School for Misfits
by MochiUs
Summary: Steve, skinny and weak, managed to be accepted into Stark Academy, and most importantly, its reputable S.H.I.E.L.D program even though it is only meant for the "talented and gifted". However, later he will found out what these "talents and gifts" really are as he befriends the students and will realize his actual role here.
1. Welcome to the Program

**A/N: The Steve portrayed here is the one before he took the Super Soldier Serum. I haven't read the comics yet, so I apologize for any misconceptions. Correct me as soon as possible. Well, this is a school AU, so it shouldn't be so bad. And thank you for reading this. This is my first Avengers fic.**

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****Welcome to the Program

Steve's nerves frazzled as Maria Hill entered the compacted bare room, bringing an air of dominance and intimidation in her wake. His spine shivered when he made eye contact with her steely eyes. She looked over the skinny, lanky kid and sighed. Steve swore there was disappointment in her mind; after all, there is no way they can enroll a frail, asthmatic kid like him, especially into their S.H.I.E.L.D program. His chances of survival on the first day look pretty dim. He'll be obliterated into bits before he can cry uncle. Back then, it was almost impossible for him to even have the opportunity if it wasn't for Dr. Erskine. However, the stubborn fourteen year old boy was determined; his mind was set.

Before Steve was recruited, there were rumors floating about, praising the prestigious Stark Academy and its remarkable program, where they collected only the "gifted and talented". Their plethora of graduates is always revered by all, serving their country under the government and ensuring the safety of the citizens. Enamored by their glory and valor, Steve immediately signed up to be part of their program, wanting to protect people just like the one who saved him in the past. Normally, the program would send their letters of approval to the ones they believe are "talented and gifted", but there is a small flicker of hope for people like Steve, for people who are just the common population.

He heard of their amazing medical schools despite the shrouded mystery behind it, but oh, would Steve love to observe the doctors, to learn how to cure even the deadliest of diseases. He has so many reasons to join, but in actuality, he doesn't understand the ultimate reason in his heart.

The week right after he sent in his applications to their headquarters, one Dr. Erskine stepped onto his doorstep with a suitcase in hand. Wrinkles inhabited his face and lines of wisdom were evident in his tired eyes, but they got along well on their first encounter for Steve was a well-mannered boy who respected his elders. He led the graying man to sit down on the sofa while Steve stood and fetched him tea.

While he was pouring hot water into the teacup, Dr. Erskine finally spoke.

"What is your name, boy?"

His voice sounded ragged and hoarse. Steve handed the hot teacup into Dr. Erskine's hand.

"My name is Steve Rogers, sir."

"Ah… yes… The little one."

The old man rubbed his chin and nodded.

Steve was jumping on his heels, too excited to listen to half of the mumbles the Doctor was saying, but to his slight dismay and glee, the quirky man laid down the suitcase on the coffee table and opened it, pulled out a piece of paper from it, and looked at the boy straight in the eye.

Something important was coming underway.

Then he asked a very puzzling question, "Who do you want to be?"

Confused, Steve accidentally blurted out, "Huh?"

He repeated, "Who do you want to be?"

Steve rubbed the back of his head, blushing into the color of a red tomato and answered, "I-I don't know."

"You don't know?" Dr. Erskine pushed his glasses back to the bridge of his nose.

Steve recomposed himself, straightened his back, and took a deep breath.

"Well, I don't really know how this is relevant to the program, but… I guess I would like to be a shield."

"A shield?" Dr. Erskine asked, bemused.

Noticing the unintended pun behind it, Steve sputtered.

"I mean! I want to be a shield, as in something that can be used to protect people." Steve explained. "I want to be somebody who can stop others from hurting the innocent, from bullying the weak and helpless…"

Dr. Erskine smiled wide for the first time ever since he laid a foot into the household and stood up, chuckling to himself as he headed to the door. Panicking, Steve opened the door due to chivalry and had a horrified look because he was afraid that he answered incorrectly and left the old man in disarray. To soothe his worries, Dr. Erskine tipped his hat as he headed to the door.

"Congratulations, Steve Rogers. You should be celebrating."

"Huh?"

There was another toothy grin.

"You are officially a candidate for the program."

He passed. Steve Rogers, fatherless, fourteen, and college broke, passed the requirements (except his weight but he promised he will bulk up) for enrolling into Stark Academy.

At his front house, a sleek, black car stopped, and a man with black sunglasses matching his car emerged from the driver seat. His mother kissed him a final good-bye, crying tears of joy and sorrow to see her boy to travel so far, and Steve, in return, muttered words of gratitude and assurance. Then he left his mother's arms, from the sanctuary of safety. He sat in the back after he lugged his suitcase to the confined compartment in the back, and the man in black sat at the driver's seat once again and drove them towards their destination: Stark Academy.

Who knows how long they were on the freeway? They passed at least five different checkpoints, but Steve caught his breath as they approached the school because they were now cruising inside the famous tunnel entrance. The light at the end grew bigger and bigger, and when they finally reached there, Steve was definitely sure that he did not predict this sort of view.

If there is one word that Steve can relatively and possibly describe about the entire school and its premises into one word, it would be the word "EXTRAVAGANT".

Steve's expectations couldn't compare to his first impressions now. The front of the school was awe-inspiring for the front was worldly symmetrical and spans to who knows where, possibly passing the horizons. All of the architects in the world would grow green with envy if they had a glimpse of its perfection. At the same time, the buildings looked futuristic, as if it popped out from one of those old-fashioned comics. A prominent globe was at the center, and as the car sped around it, Steve's face continued to stick to the window like glue. Fountains were everywhere, and Steve laughed when he saw the statue of a young boy urinating into one. He has to take a picture of that to send to his mother.

The place wasn't meant for residents, but when they stopped at a curve because of a stop sign, some students were passing the crosswalk. It wasn't a habit, but Steve stared at them as they walked on. They could be his future classmates. One by one, Steve etched their faces into his head, hoping next time he can greet them properly instead of sitting inside a stuffy car to stare at them like a fish out of water.

However, one interrupted his idle memory sketching by surprise.

It was simple, as if it was an unwritten rule. He would stare at some passerby, and they will pass him without acknowledging his existence because he is in a car, but this one guy, who has dark, spiked hair, and piercing eyes, stared back at him, breaking that rule. At first, the young teen raised one eyebrow in a curious manner, and then he grinned and laughed at Steve's shocked expression. He couldn't read his lips, but the boy nudged his friend, a girl with auburn hair and stunning green eyes. She turned to where he was pointing at and laughed, too. Steve's face burned with hot embarrassment because he is exposed. He looked away, but he can feel their mockery. Never had he felt this flustered. The driver of the car, ignorant, stepped on the gas and slowed down to a tall building.

"This is your dormitory." he said.

Steve wobbled out of the car, attempting to wake his tired legs because of the long ride.

"Um… Thank you… Mister?"

The man dressed in black extended his hand and shook Steve's hand.

"My name is Phil Coulson. You can call me Phil, if you like."

"Phil…" Steve repeated.

His eyes crinkled in response. He slammed the back door shut and slipped into his car, and saluted to the departing Steve.

He informed the lost boy, "You will gain help inside, where you will meet your roommate. Hopefully, you can get a tour soon." A corner of his mouth curved upwards. "And welcome to Stark Academy and our program."

Steve shouted back as he asserted himself to haul his heavy load from the trunk, "Thank you!"

He was breathless with the scenery.

Phil left, but Steve heard his final words to him for the day while the humming of the car rumbled on.

"Godspeed, Steve, godspeed…"

_Godspeed indeed._


	2. What Makes You So Special?

**A/N: In case you want a warning, in the beginning, Tony is dating Pepper. I might add one-sided Steve/Peggy if I feel like it. Sorry for bad action. It's one of my weakest points in writing. =_=**

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What Makes You So Special?

"Bye Bucky! See you at the cafeteria!"

Steve waved farewell to his new roommate, James "Bucky" Barnes, who was currently reading his comics, and exited their room. They were both assigned to the second floor, so the only way he could go up was through the stairs. He was feeling a tad bit adventurous this afternoon, so lifted his legs and sat on the stair railings. Pushing himself, he slid down the line, loving the rush of the wind in his hair as it reminded him of those roller coasters he would usually see from a distance. Laughing, he greeted the kind people working at the front office as he composed his ruffled hair.

He always wanted to try that stunt someday.

The school was like a labyrinth, and after ten minutes looking for the cafeteria, he ended up gawking at the enormity of the school. He desperately searched for an idle map or a directory, occasionally diverting himself by passing each blurry screen plastered on the walls. The worrying Bucky constantly reminded him to bring his own map, and he in turn reassured the worrywart he has one. Yet, today, he left his spare one in his back pocket from the pants he wore yesterday. His folly may as well cost him lunch, but this may lead to the worst case scenario, which is where he is doomed for all eternity, lost in a technologically-enhanced building. He stopped jogging for he sees no egress. He is stuck in this building, so he guesses until he finds another wanderer, he'll explore the perimeter. And once again, he is astonished to see the professional architecture and expertise artwork displayed. There were old-fashioned artifacts and dainty trinkets that are not meant for outside use.

"I guess this building belongs to the History department." he said out loud.

One of the screens was playing the biography of a man who looks incredibly rich, and Steve stood there until one ominous though overcame him. For some odd reason, this building was barren and cold. Sunshine is lighting the halls, and it was the afternoon, but his instincts buzzed madly, alerting him the looming threat. He may have not stayed here for over a week, but it was disturbing to not see one student in sight. He is shivering, wrapping his arms around himself because an invisible frosty breeze flew by.

It was nerve-wracking to hear his own footsteps echoing in the spooky building… until he heard another noise, a noise far louder than the clacking of his own footsteps. First, there was a thud, then a smack, which is followed by a splintering crack rippling the walls. He heard a groan, and an evil chuckle in response. In plain sight, a large student towered over another, but this victim was limply sitting down with face head down in contrast to the victorious pose the ruthless one demonstrated. The colossal monster-like one repeatedly bashed the battered student, not yielding.

He yelled in a mocking tone, "Thor! Are you not ashamed? You should fight back instead of waiting like a sitting duck!"

Before the young man named Thor could spit out a spiteful answer, Steve wasted no time in jumping into the action and caught the bully off-guard by pushing him off balance. He may be a shrimp, but the concept of gravity is still there. Spirited and quick in his movements, he lightly shook the golden-haired boy. Although Thor was not unconscious, and because of the bone-crushing sounds he heard before, Steve presumes there are cracked ribs. His heart is beating with adrenaline, or- may God help him- it's an asthma attack.

Steve asked quickly, "Are you okay?"

Thor groaned again.

Then Steve heard a vicious roar, and Steve internally groaned as he turned to see the larger one slowly standing up while releasing a colorful string of curses from his potty mouth. For sure, he was fuming mad. Well, _of course_ he would be mad. After all, he was disrupted by a little pipsqueak like Steve.

The giant approached them, shaking the floor uncontrollably like earthquakes. Having no choice or alternative, Steve jumped to cover Thor, draping him with his lithe body and moving him away from the beast's raging strikes. They barely missed.

The large one bellowed loudly, "Foolish mortal! Begone from me!"

Despite of their incoming demise, Thor whispered something, something that even Steve's deft ears couldn't hear, and when he urged him to repeat, he was shocked to see a flashing, blinding light enveloping Thor's muscular body.

"I'm sorry, brave warrior."

Before he could contemplate Thor's remorseful words more carefully, a flash of gold and red hurled towards the larger student, and simultaneously, something bit into the back of his neck, slowly knocking him out cold. Even though Steve wanted to see who rescued him, his eyes were already dazed, and the gold and red entity was too blurry for him to outline. All he could do was to close his eyes and to succumb to the overwhelming darkness, occasionally hearing the faded voices in the background until he was truly unconscious.

When he woke up, he woke up to a girl sitting on a chair next to his bed, examining him with great scrutiny as if he was a Biology experiment ready to be dissected instead of a patient with innumerable sores. She had very red lips and luscious brown hair, but when she spoke, she had a distinct British accent.

"Steve Rogers, am I correct?"

Steve blushed to realize he was in the presence of a young woman and could only blank out. If he was planning to say something stupid and unimpressive, well, he was saved by the bell and by a certain boy barging through the door as if he owned the place. He had the Stark uniform on, plaid pants, a navy blue blazer, and a matching tie.

"Hey there, Peggy, beautiful day isn't it? You look _smashing _as ever."

She pursed her lips in disdain.

"Hello,_ Mr. Stark_."

He smiled like the devil himself and kissed her hand like a gentleman, but she knows he kissed it for a different purpose. Extracting her hand immediately, she glared daggers, ready to punch a sucker to the overconfident brute but stood up and snatched her purse.

She sighed, "I will see you later, Steve Rogers."

Then she left the room to leave Stark alone with Steve Rogers, understanding that was his initial motive to antagonize her, and closed the door with a sturdy click.

He flirtatiously called out to the British girl despite the door being closed, "Are you jolly enough to drink a cup of tea with me after school?"

Steve faintly heard her scornful response and imagined her shaking her head in disarray, "_American boys- the nerve of them._"

The adolescent must have heard her for he just shrugged and seated himself on the same chair Peggy recently sat on, turning his entire attention to Steve, who was also staring at the other intently. While this person was texting, he fluffed his pillow for extra comfort, and that gave him the opportunity to scrutinize his visitor. He looks strangely familiar, as if they met before; his face was like a missing puzzle piece.

He accidentally spoke his thoughts out loud, "You look familiar."

The young man's face lit up, had a smug look on his face and coughed in prideful glee as he rubbed his tie appreciatively. It seems Steve's simple comment bloated his ego, if that was possible.

"I am, huh? Well, it is difficult to be an actual celebrity and son of the dean of this academy." He said it in such a gloating attitude.

"Wha-?"

Tony cockily raised one meager eyebrow, wondering who this queer person is.

"Um, hello? Tony Stark? Awesome prodigy who revolutionized the world at the age of twelve? The rich kid down the block? The embodiment of human perfection?"

He bathed in the sunlight, as if it was his own personal spotlight.

It was Steve's turn to look at the uncanny person in front of him peculiarly.

"I apologize, _Mr. Stark_, but I never heard of you _nor_ do I believe you are human perfection."

Tony had to admit, he smiled because he was happy to see this kid isn't bowing down to his epic presence or coddling to his whims. He can appreciate that at least.

"Why do you think of that, Rogers?"

"Because you are not God."

Tony finally laughed, the humor behind it all questionable to the unknowing Steve, but to Tony Stark, everything is funny, especially when you have met an actual god. It was like an inside joke, and hey, this Steve kid isn't the funniest person in the universe, but he can enjoy someone's company, especially when he is forced to talk with him.

What was he even doing here again? Oh right, to double-check what he knows.

"So, Steve, do you remember what happened back there?"

Steve hopes that Stark was referring to the incident back then. "Are you talking about that long-haired boy who was bullied?"

Bully. Ha. Tony wanted to laugh so badly. Thor, pretending to be a human and pretending to be beaten into a bloody pulp is a must-see.

"What's so funny?" Steve asked, cocking his head to one side.

Shoot, he was caught.

"Nothing, I'm just laughing at your simple-mindedness." he stated frankly.

Steve got defensive. "What do you mean?"

Tony rolled his eyes.

"It is unconceivable that you, of all people, a scrawny kid from Brooklyn, would risk his life to save Thor from Frost Giant."

"Who?"

"That fiend back then who almost crushed you."

"I see…"

"What made you think that a skeleton like you could defeat Frost?" Tony switched from sitting on the chair to sitting on the side of Steve's bed. "The day you could beat him is the day when I quit on woman and start embracing my homosexual side."

"Are you implying something, Mr. Stark?"

Diverging from their conversation, Tony whispered a few words to his backpack, and magically, it unzipped to free a handful of tools and appliances for him to choose to repair the loose knob of the chair.

While he was tightening a screw, he reacted with the upmost neutrality, "No, no, no, I'm not. Really, it's just… you should stop trying to be a hero."

"You thought I was trying to be a hero?" Steve echoed incredulously.

He waved it off like it was dust. "Thor could handle his own. I helped him, too. However, you were baggage for the two of us. You're not heavy, but do you know how tiresome it is to watch over someone as breakable as you?"

Steve turned red, ashamed and self-conscious.

"Look, Stevie. Hey, can I call you Stevie?"

Steve was quiet, wordless.

"Everybody has a role here. And to make life easier for Thor and me, we would prefer it if you don't involve yourself with catastrophic hazards or anything that can snap you in half like a twig."

"No."

Tony sighed heavily, preparing a rebuttal in head and getting pretty exacerbated, "Look, I-"

"You can't call me Stevie. Also, only good friends can call me _Steve_."

Tony's expression was priceless.

"You serious?"

"Yes."

Tony imitated his girlfriend, rubbing his temples in frustration and feeling a vein about to pop a second ago.

"Shit, thought I was in trouble for a second there."

Steve scrunched his face, hating the sound of profanity. Tony must have sensed that, too, for he smiled and gave an apologetic look, got up, and looked down at Steve's feeble body composition.

"Trouble for what?" Steve asked.

Tony gave a wry smile and answered, "If I could, I would like to avoid the wrath of Principal Fury."

He packed his equipment, zipped his backpack, and began to retreat to the door, leaving Steve alone to recollect his thoughts.

"Ta, _Steven_," he slurred the name in a facetious tone, "Now if you'll excuse me, I have five essays I have to half-ass."

Tony closed the door and left, abandoning Steve to count the dots on the ceiling even though it is impractical. Just like his undying fire to help someone. He wanted to help people like him, but playing like a broken record player, Tony's snarky words reverberated in his head: _You should stop trying to be a hero_.

He shook his head to shoo away the plaguing thoughts.

There was a rapping on the door, and the mellow school nurse came in, to notify him he can leave and return to his class, which, at this inopportune time, is Physical Education, his worst subject. He was on his way, moping, until someone tapped his shoulder softly. He turned his head around to see Peggy smiling with her radiant feminine splendor and magnetic attractiveness. He didn't sense her at all, so indirectly he took a step back but turned flustered after realizing why she tapped on his shoulder for she pointed at the opposite direction.

"The gym is that way." she corrected him.

_What a kind-hearted dame!_

Zealous, he thanked her grace, "T-thank you!"

_I'm such an idiot._

No longer having that puckered face she had on before, she smiled. They walked to the gym side by side, and due to his natural timidity around women, he allowed Peggy to talk about her interests, which involves Doctor Who and BBC's Sherlock Holmes.

Aside from that, she suddenly said, "Bucky was concerned about your welfare."

Perked up to hear Bucky's name, he asked, "You're friends?"

_Silence._

She stopped at a dead end, and it appears they were talking so fervently, Steve lost track of time.

A cold pit dropped in his stomach.

"Peggy… Where are we?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but what came out of her mouth wasn't her heavenly voice belonging to the heavens; instead, she released a cacophony of unidentifiable noises. Then she began disappearing at a leisurely pace, as if her existence was being casually wiped out. She was like a hologram, a mirage, a phantasm, a- a-

"Like my illusion?"

Yes, like an _illusion_.

Five points to whoever said that, but sadly, Frost was the lucky winner.

He eyed Steve hungrily and laughed maliciously at Steve's insignificant defiance. Steve didn't flinch when blasts of air circled around him, lowering his body temperature drastically. He wanted to escape, but Frost blocked his way.

"Aren't you special? You, a mere human, managed to instigate the mighty ire of a frost giant."

His laugh rumbled the walls, and Steve, for a split second, was frightened to see chips of paint from the ceiling fall off. A flurry of snow appeared out of nowhere, and because of the vast color of white, Steve spotted the lid of a trash can a few feet away, standing right at the middle between Frost and him. It must have blown there due to the powerful winds. Unwilling to surrender to the student, he somersaulted and grabbed it. If there is one moment in his fed-up, uneventful life he can appreciate to help him endure this, it would be his old school having the gall to host an Ultimate Frisbee team instead of a Volleyball team. In the right poise, Steve flicked his wrist and let the lid whirled right at Frost's head. The rim smacked his face. While Frost rubbed his eyes to ease the foreseeable pain, Steve slid past his legs, picked up the lid, and ran. He almost slipped since the floor was frozen ice, but he persisted on and prayed that he won't bump into anyone.

However, God was not on his side today for Thor was at the end of the corridor, frowning to see Steve running away from a pursuing monster. Steve frantically waved his hands.

"Run away, Thor!"

Steve tripped.

Feeling a bruise coming underway, he gasped to see ice surrounding his feet, creeping upwards, licking his arm with its frosty air. It was freezing his body. Then Thor, who must have been death or has ignored his hysterical cries, walked closer to Steve, not blinking an eye to see Frost blasting icicles in his general direction. Thor grimaced and extended one arm out, focusing his energy. Assuming Thor was somewhat paralyzed with terror, Steve bit his tongue. His arm did a terse spasm due to the reflex, and then he gripped his lid.

He grunted, "Here goes nothing."

When the icicles were right above his head, he threw it up, deflecting the icicles, but there are still broken shards. In addition, they were swiftly plunging down straight for Steve's head. It would be a marvel to see the lid back to his arms where he would repel the shards, too, but with his luck so far, it averted him.

Thor yelled in an instant, "FOR MIDGARD!"

A hammer crashed through a wall and flew itself to Thor's beefy hands, presenting its magnificence to the whole world. Thor clenched his teeth as an electrical surge pulsed through his veins and lightning erupted from his very hands, shocking anything standing in its path. Yet, they still missed the shards, and by that time, Steve's hope to not be pierced dwindled because Thor charged and pounced Frost already.

Steve moaned during his last seconds.

"For the love of-"

"Did somebody call for a hero?"

Answering to his inserted groans, a blue beam disintegrated the shards, and when his rescuer landed next to his head, small flecks of snow blasted into his face. Steve craned his neck to see his savior. It was armor; it was a man. It was Tony fucking Stark.

Tony wasn't completely clothed with armor, though, because the armor strapped onto him was similar to basic padding gear. He had metallic gloves, knee pads, shoes, and the only piece of safety wear that was out of the ordinary was the chest place, which was glowing a blue hue. Tony raised one arm, and a laser was released, melting the ice and freeing Steve's legs.

"Thank you." Steve muttered while rubbing his ankles.

Tony bowed and dipped his head.

Then he offered to Steve, "Hey, if you still want to watch the show, mind getting me that suspicious canteen over there?"

He pointed at a bottle at the far left, and Steve was glad enough to comply because the urge to stimulate activity is immensely strong since he's shivering unremittingly. After Tony got what he asked for, he popped the cap off and strode over to the fighting men brawling, hummed a catchy tune while letting the oil from the canteen splash to and fro, and splattering a thin trail from them to Steve.

While Thor and Frost were withstanding their strengths, not noticing what Tony has done, he returned to Steve's side and innocently asked a question.

"Do know what oil is, Steven?"

Going with the flow of their nonsensical conversation, he answered, "Is it for fuel?"

Tony pretended to take a sharp intake of breath, holding his heart as if Steve stabbed him. Then he shook his head.

"While that may be true, in this case…"

In his other hand, he had a flamethrower and ignited a flame.

He smiled roguishly. "It is flammable."

He lowered his hand to the start of the trail, and by the name of science, a congregation of fire bloomed instantaneously, catching Thor and Frost off guard. Frost collapsed on his knees as he literally melted, shrinking by the minute, while Thor floated away unharmed and unscathed. The bruises and scratches he had earlier were only small smidges on his skin now. As if the injuries he had two hours ago never existed. Steve stayed wide-eyed, astonished to meet two superheroes in a span of one day and closed his mouth. He was immobile and fatigued.

Tony whipped out his Stark phone and dialed a number while Thor searched for any injuries.

Tony groaned dramatically, speaking to the other line, "Yes, yes, yes. I _told _you. It wasn't _my_ fault! The frost giant just attacked him like a psycho." He paused. "Yes, yes, yes…"

While Tony continued to nod his head like a bobble head, Thor latched his hammer onto a belt and declared, "I thank thee, Son of Rogers. In return, I shall retrieve the medical assistance!"

At first, he was about to fly, but then he stomped his feet in frustration as a reminder to stay on the ground and ran off like a normal human, not breaking a sweat. Tony slipped his phone back into his pocket and called out to no one.

"Jarvis, I need you here."

A mechanical voice replied, "Do you wish for me to get a first aid kit, Mr. Stark?"

"That will do."

His backpack, _on wheels_, rolled to Tony and unzipped itself, the same way it did back at the nurse's room. Tony pocketed a few rolls and ointments until he plucked out a band-aid and slapped it to Steve's cheek. Steve applied it properly.

"Well, Jarvis did a body check, and based on the results, you are fine. You might wake up with sores, though. By the way, that Peggy you met at the room was real. She's alright. She wasn't involved."

Steve looked befuddled. Tony sighed.

"I know all of this because of Jarvis. Jarvis is an artificial intelligence, or to be more specific, he is my backpack at the moment."

Steve looked apprehensive but spoke anyway.

"Umm… Thank you, Jarvis… for the band-aid… and the info."

"My pleasure, Mr. Rogers."

Steve expressed his trepidation. "I don't think I'll get used to that, Mr. Stark."

"Call me Tony."

Steve made a disgusted face. "I prefer calling you _Mr. Stark_, Mr. Stark."

Jarvis interrupted, "I believe he is more comfortable with that, Mr. Stark."

Steve smiled, seeing the positive side of befriending an artificial intelligence. "See, Jarvis agrees with me."

"That's because he calls me Mr. Stark, too."

Then Steve paused. He gasped.

"Hold on a moment. If you knew I wasn't hurt, then why did you let Thor go to the nurse?"

Tony shrugged, "He'll figure it out." Then he added, "Jarvis, can you also clean up this mess?

Hoses poked themselves out of the lockers and spurted water, hosing down the fires until more assistance arrives. There was no fire alarm, surprisingly, but Tony just shrugged and explained, "It happens all the time."

Steve's jaw dropped. "This?"

"Well, we have fires and explosions every other week. However, it's not because of me. Howard will ground me for life. The science department is in charge of endangering our lives."

Then Tony picked up a device from his backpack and leveled it up to Steve's face.

He instructed him, "Look at this."

Steve asked, "Why?"

There was a twinkle in his eye. "This will erase your memories today. You won't remember Thor, Frost, or me. You will only remember this morning, and after that, it will be a new white sheet of paper. I wish Charles can handle you since he's a pro, but I guess I have to do the dirty work."

"Are you lying?"

"No."

"…"

Tony laughed. "Why, aren't you special? You got first hand experience fighting a frost giant, survived, and met me."

Steve laughed at that last bit. "I'm so sorry to disappoint, but I'm not special at all."

Tony shrugged, "Maybe… But before I press this button, I would like you to know that because of you, my ass is a goner. Principal Fury is so going to chew me out."

Steve smiled at the sarcastic man, "That may have been the best thing I heard today."

Tony's thumb was on the red button.

He whispered, "Good-bye Steve."

Before he fully pressed on the button, someone slammed onto the wall adjacent from them, and behold, Phil was there like a spectral figure.

He shot the device out of Tony's hands, and Tony, offended, laid his hand on his hips.

Phil explained, "Sorry Tony, but you can't brainwash him."

"And why not?"

"Because he's part of the S.H.I.E.L.D program."

"…"

As if Phil's words activated a button upon Tony, he swished his head to the confused boy.

"You're a part of S.H.I.E.L.D?"


	3. Freshly Baked Apple Pie

**A/N: That moment when you don't know what direction the story is going… I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

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Freshly Baked Apple Pie

"Whose crazy decision was it," Tony wagged his finger accusingly at Steve, "to put him in S.H.I.E.L.D?"

The three were confined in a brightly lit room in another, unidentified building Steve has yet to discover. The walls looked homely thanks to the peach paint, too cozy to be a room meant for locking Agent Coulson, Tony, and Steve there, but there was a metal door as the exit, juxtaposing the two themes.

Agent Coulson, Steve learned, had to babysit Tony and him temporarily because regarding the incident with Frost sparked Principal Fury's interest, and their safety was his top priority, which is why when Tony refused to step into this room, Phil had to manhandle him here, leading him to have a short temper. The ruffled teen continued acting out his own soliloquy, annoying Steve's eardrums. Despite that, though, he collapsed on an elongated settee, feeling the massive weight of today dissolving like how salt would disappear in a cup of water. However, all good things must come to an end when Agent Coulson stiffened. While Tony was in the middle of blaming the academy's faulty system, especially his father's irresponsible way of running things, Phil quickly pulled out his gun and pointed at the door. Jarvis signaled Tony a powerful being is approaching the premises. They were high-strung and tensions rose as they all heard the imminent pounding on the door. Tony attached one of his gloves into his right hand, readying the repulsor and aiming it at the door, too.

"On the count of three," Tony whispered, "We'll attack."

Whatever was outside made a dent on the door.

"One…"

There were three protruding bumps on the metal door now. Couldn't Jarvis post a video of this being?

"Two…"

The door was flung out of the way.

Tony yelled, "Three!"

Before they could shoot, someone flew from the other side and flung the door aside swiftly, then jumped onto Agent Coulson, squeezing the daylights out of him by the human process of hugging.

"Son of Coul! You have returned from your battle!" Thor cried happily.

Steve could only pity the choking agent as he started to turn into a ghastly shade of blue, but Tony, on the other hand dropped his glove and laughed, relishing this rare moment of history. Phil fruitlessly patted the god's shoulder, soliciting Thor to restrain his joyous feelings. By now, Tony fell to the ground, rolling on the floor laughing as if there was no end to tomorrow. However, due to Steve's urging, he playfully pushed Thor away to give the man some air, which he did comply. Phil was on his knees, breathing heavy, short gasps as if each one was his last. He massaged his neck and gave a terse nod. The god still had ebullient feelings inside him, so Steve was the next one to receive his bone-crushing embrace. He yelped as Thor's arms surrounded him, and just like Phil, he was wiggling like a flopping fish, wishing for oxygen.

Tony didn't have a chance to laugh at Steve because he sensed Phil's stabbing glare behind his back.

He tries to persuade Thor before he gets in any more trouble.

"Now big guy, we don't want to kill the good Midgardian, do we? How about letting him go?"

Thor pouted and dropped him. Tony clapped his hands, proud to see the god exercising repression. Apparently, they left him while he ran around the academy to look for the nurse and happened to hear where they were at. Tony now turned to Agent Coulson.

"Now that the almighty Thor is here, Agent, would you mind telling me why I can't do my job properly or why a runt is endangering himself in Howard's program?"

Of course Tony would like to know why Steve can't lose his memories.

Phil sighed. "Tony, I-"

"Because if I recall, this was part of the assignment, but now I hear this bullshit and-"

An intrusive voice, lower and more of like a bark, snipped off Tony's rant, "First of all, Stark, you have an infamous track record of deleting the memories of fifteen citizens on your permanent record. Second, you are not the best candidate to choose who should lose their memories."

Emerging from the shadows where the door used to be was a dark-skinned man wearing a long black coat with a S.H.I.E.L.D patch sewed onto his right sleeve and an eye-patch, making him look like a pirate out of an action movie. Even though he was the same as Tony, Steve understood that this man holds a superior role and was someone one shouldn't trifle with. He camouflaged with the darkness, but under the light, he was the most conspicuous. He looked at Steve with his good eye.

"Good afternoon Steve Rogers."

Deeming he is liable to talk and not wanting to be rude, he answered back, "Good afternoon to you, too, sir."

Tony, not one for respect and formalities, had cut to the chase. "Fury, what are you planning with him?"

Hard-faced, Principal Fury said, "He has potential."

"Potential?" Tony made a sour expression. "From what I remembered, if one doesn't use that potential to his full ability, he is the same as a citizen."

Thor backed to the side, including Agent Coulson.

"Tony, you don't understand." Understand what? That you guys are planning to use him as a lab rat?"

Principal Fury was tight-lipped.

"We aren't doing that."

Tony laughed, but this laugh was one of ridicule.

"If not, then what are you going to do with him? Train him to be an agent like Phil over there? I know you have something up that sleeve in there."

"You are just making false assumptions."

"This is why I never liked Howard employing you."

Steve raised his hand high in the air, slicing the crackling tension between the two with his dense innocence, and asked, "May I have permission to speak?"

Tony rolled his eyes, bemoaning the hapless fact he was actually associated with such a Boy Scout, and glared vehemently at Principal Fury who allowed the bright-eyed teen to talk, which ended their verbal brawl. He waited for Steve to speak.

Principal Fury, still slightly peeved because of Tony's invasive questions, locked his eyes onto baby blue, daring the owner of those startling azure eyes to ask anything, anything at all.

Undaunted, the other finally inquired with no trace of fear laced on his words, "May I ask, what does S.H.I.E.L.D stand for?"

If Principal Fury didn't expect this weird question, he was trained to not show it but just smiled ruefully and patted on Steve's shoulder condescendingly. Tony rolled his eyes again.

"Sorry, but that's classified."

Tony muttered, "Teacher's pet."

Agent Coulson, who previously stood at the sidelines along with Thor watching the prior onslaught, stepped out and gripped Steve's shoulder and guided him out of the room, due to Fury's implicative gaze, with Tony following behind. Before he lost sight of Fury from his peripheral vision, Thor was pushing Tony to move forward faster, and so, their day officially ended. Class has ended long ago; they were met with empty hallways. Walking on them was like arriving a ghost town, and the unrelenting clicking sound Tony purposefully made with his heels didn't improve the void.

Tony was the first one to speak.

"That wasn't the question you wanted to ask."

Steve did that familiar cocking his head to one side.

"So?"

"You broke the mood on purpose."

"I had to. It was suffocating back there."

"What was the real question, then?"

Steve had a thoughtful expression and took his time answering, "I was just curious about what you guys were talking about. Why did you keep referring me as a 'civilian' back there?"

Before Tony's biting words could reply, Agent Coulson went in the middle and began explaining, in an abridged version, the sophisticated system the academy had installed as its founding motive. Steve, too awestruck with the idea, attempted to paraphrase.

"So… Tony and Thor aren't the only ones with powers…"

"Yes."

"And in order to learn to adapt in a civilian setting for the pure purpose to not reveal their identities, I was chosen, along with others, for this 'project'…"

To spite Agent Coulson, Tony added, "To endanger yourself around potential super villains and superheroes. Therefore, this corrupted academy pays your family in indulgent amounts in case there are casualties."

Steve audibly whispered, "Casualties?"

Assuming Steve's appalled expression was one of concern, Agent Coulson reassured, "Do not fret, Mr. Rogers. We have Class A agents inhabiting the school, plus, we have good people like Thor here who would risk their lives to protect your well-being."

Tony coughed loudly, "Excuse me, _Agent_, but I just noticed that you haven't included me as the good people list."

"Tony, you are self-destructive and egotistical."

"Damn right I am, proud to be that, too, but wasn't it _me_ who saved buddy over here?" He wrung his thumb towards Steve's startled look.

Agent Coulson nodded. "That's true. Quite shocked to see you involve yourself with him. I guess that is why Howard is rooming Mr. Rogers with you."

Steve and Tony halted instantaneously, screeching the soles of their feet on the pavement. Turning their heads simultaneously at the smirking agent, they cried out their outrage.

"What?"

The man in black with sunglasses full of swag chirped, "Your father was overjoyed to see his own son befriending another, so as a present, he will room Mr. Rogers with you."

"Bullshit." Tony spat. "Thor would have been a better choice. I'll even accept Banner! Besides, how the heck are we friends?"

Jarvis spoke through the speakers, which are intact to Tony's backpack.

"The literal definition of a friend, based on dictionary . com is a person who gives assistance- a supporter."

Tony rebutted, "But a friend is also a person who is on good terms with another, which is not what Steve and I-"

"You still can't call me Steve."

Tony gestured to Steve. "See? If we were friends, he wouldn't be such an arse."

Pretending his ears were plugged, Agent Coulson continued on.

"Boys, it is late, so I advise you, Mr. Rogers, to pack up right now, and when you are done, Tony would be glad to take you to his room where you are welcomed with a newly furnished bed. Isn't that right, Tony?"

Said Tony, for once, didn't want to talk. Thor, who was oddly quiet during this whole period, bid his friends ado for he has a certain Jane Foster he must woo at this untimely hour, and Agent Coulson, who had a sudden distress call, politely excused himself for not escorting Steve back to his dorm room and zipped away, running to wherever danger beckons him. Tony and Steve were alone and silent during the whole trip back to the destined dorm room.

After they had gone upstairs and knocked on the door where Bucky opened the door with a weary expression, Steve pulled out his small, brown knapsack stashed under his bed and stuffed it with his most prized possession, a petite photo of his dear mother, and of course, his clothes. Tony was leaning at the doorpost, studying the average dorm room and Steve's paltry bag slung on his shoulder. Bucky, obviously not saddened to have a room all to himself, gave a brusque wave and returned back to reading his comics as Steve gave the room one last look-over and closed the door.

Describing the flamboyancy Steve witnessed as they walked closer and closer to Tony's room was useless, but indeed, the main colors he saw were red and gold. A bit too much gold Steve would like to point out. Luckily, he got an improvised tour of this side of the school.

There was a touch screen beside Tony's sliding door, and while he was tapping away the combination and his password and letting his fingerprint checked, he further explained to Steve more about this unusual school.

"There are only three civilians, excluding a handful of agents, who knows about us."

"Really? Who are they?"

The door slid open and lights turned on when Tony clapped his hands.

"Technically, you are the only male who knows. My girlfriend, Pepper knows, and Thor's 'soul mate', as he would like to call it, Jane Foster, knows."

Just like Phil had predicted, a queen-sized mattress was laid out, its bed sheets probably made by some kind of exotic silk and dyed in red, white, and blue. Steve dumped out his belongings, which made Tony just scrunched his face.

"What's the matter? Too digital that you never seen a photograph before?"

"Why do you have _so _little? It hurts my eyes to see the difference."

Yes, Steve can see the trophies, the awards, medals, and the plaques ornamenting his walls, yet Steve was not envious. Maybe it was Tony's bored expression when he looked at his entire room, or the way he didn't babble on about his successful high school career, but Steve just criss-crossed his legs on his new bed, fished out a small book, and read.

"You are so gay to read at midnight." Tony stated.

Steve flipped to the next page, entranced by the prologue but answered back to Tony's retort.

"Why yes, I am very happy."

"Happy about what?"

Steve teased, "Being your friend."

The diction of the book was almost flawless, the words streaming like a river, capturing his attention, but then he heard a whirring sound, which distracted him. It was in a capsule of some sort, and inside there was a triangular shape suspended in air. Its energy source was nowhere in sight. Maybe whatever that was, it was energy itself. He shuffled to the capsule on Tony's side of the bed, and before Tony could yell, to stymie his advances, Steve touched it. The floating object combusted, burned into a fascinating crisp, and died out, leaving a harsh sizzle as a result. He was shocked and turned pale while Tony gritted his teeth and sucked in a large breath. He looked like he would chew him into bits.

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

Tony touched the scraps, and crumbled into ash. He mourned for the loss, but this is Tony Stark, you see, so later on, he'll shrug off the grudge and will make a better invention. If this was true, his grumbles said otherwise.

He dusted the ash into the bin while begrudgingly talking to himself in a high-pitched voice, possibly mocking his mother, "Make friends, they said. It'll be fun, they said."

After ten minutes, Steve returned to his book, guilty and scarlet.

Tony must have forgiven him for he spoke again after another ten minutes.

"What is happiness, Steven?"

Figuring he'll never have peace, Steve laid down his book and gazed at the guy opposite him, sprawled and staring at him, too. Unable to devise a profound analogy, he shrugged and dreamily said, "I guess happiness, to me, is freshly baked apple pie on a cold day."

Tony was fixated on a blowtorch, occasionally igniting it. How he got it, Steve does not know.

"Weird, I expected you to say something cheesy, like a kiss from a beautiful girl."

Steve laughed. "I'm simple, Mr. Stark, not shallow."

Tony pretended to be pained. "Ouch, I need some ice on that burn."

"Why don't you ask Jarvis?"

Since his name was mentioned, Jarvis activated his voice, "Am I needed, Mr. Stark?"

Tony stuffed the blowtorch into his backpack, undressed, and thought for awhile until he slipped in comfortable clothes and replied, "Jarvis, what is the temperature?"

"I believe it is sixty-two degrees, Mr. Stark."

He grinned, "Perfect."

Steve, curious, asked, "What are you planning to do?"

Slipping into his slippers, Tony demanded Steve to change and bring a decent jacket while hiding in his closet asking Jarvis for his Armani.

"I'm going to have a taste of happiness. Would you like to eat some freshly baked apple pie with me tonight?"

"But it's midnight!"

"Then we will have a magnificent tea party while gobbling our perfect, freshly baked midnight snack."

Steve shook his head, amused by Tony's silly proposition.

"You are too pampered."

Nevertheless, he easily unfolded his jacket, arranged his collar, zipped the zipper up, pocketed his hands, went outside, giggled because a chilly blast of air went through his face, and sat with Tony Stark, having a good dose of happiness.


	4. More than Meets the Eye

**A/N: I would like to thank dirtygirl42, fallfromreality,and the anonymous reviews I received. And thank you, readers, for taking the time for reading this. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter, too. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the idea of the mangler missile. It is actually a real invention from Stark industries.  
**

More than Meets the Eye

The blindfolds opened, natural sunlight bathing the room, and Steve squinted, fluttering eyes open to see a girl with vibrant red hair sitting on the edge of Tony's bed, peering at his sleepy awakening. Grasping the fact that a girl is on the other side, as a late reaction, he jumped in surprise, rolled off the bed, and planted his face on the floor. His groan was muffled by the rug. The girl covered her mouth, a smile hidden beneath her hand.

"Good morning," she said, still smiling.

This morning was turning out wonderful. Slightly dazed and stung from the carpet burns, he picked himself up, cautious of the girl with the flaming hair. She still sat on the edge of the bed, reading a good romantic comedy, smiling. He scratched the back of his head, wondering if this was a cruel but unusual nightmare. Or Tony trolled on him. He chose the latter.

"Good morning, Miss…?"

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she stood up, laid down her book for Jarvis to take, and took a hand to shake.

"My name is Virginia Potts, or what Tony nicknamed me, 'Pepper'."

He introduced himself, too, despite being embarrassed to see a lady in the presence of his pajamas. "My name is-"

"Steve Rogers, I know."

Pepper smiled sparkling, white teeth, aligned and model perfect, and in turn, Steve smiled back shyly, barely flashing a line of teeth, which were slightly crooked. She was a matching partner for Tony- wonderful, independent, and beautiful in every way. Or maybe his expectations were too low.

"I am here to check on you." Pepper pulled out a small device from her shirt pocket, and when it was close to his skin, it nipped him, leaving a drop of blood.

Steve winced. "For what?"

"From what I heard, a Dr. Erskine gave you a vial to drink to cure your asthma. Do you feel any different?" The blood tester beeped, and Pepper checked the results.

"I-I don't remember the test." Steve breathed, wondering if it made any difference.

"You're fine." She left the blood tester on Tony's personal desk. "Now I can leave and you can change. You have twenty minutes until class starts."

Pepper briskly left the room, along with that lavender fragrance wafting in the air.

It has been a week since Steve considered this room his home, and yet he continues to ogle the realistic holograms, visually screening unknown beaches and stellar stars and galaxies. The sound effects were astounding. He could hear the waves crashing into jagged rocks, the sharp sound of the ocean meeting the cliffs, and the stars above were relaxing, calming, soothing. However, that placating mood was disrupted by a voracious fourteen year old arriving, cranking the tunes on his speakers. He wore his uniform, dress shirt untucked and blazer unbuttoned.

Steve frowned, showing his distaste in unkempt appearances. "You look like a slob."

Tony smirked and gently placed a laptop on Steve's desk, which, in his opinion, is a dinosaur meant to belong in a museum rather than Steve's capable hands. It was heavy and old, a bit chipped by the years, but anyone can see how Steve valued this ancient machine because it was adorned by an immeasurable number of stickers, some black and white, simple, and taped.

Steve hugged it while he was engulfed in affection, smiling bashfully and opened the aged laptop to turn it on. His artful fingers touched the edges of its rectangular shape, excited to see his folders and files again, photos he saved long ago. When the screen popped up and showed the desktop screen, though, Steve's smile was gone, and instead, a look of horror was bestowed on his face. Aside from the default icons, everything was gone. The pictures, photos, videos, documents- all of it was gone.

Tony sensed the disturbance but was too late to escape Steve's forceful tug on his arm. He pointed the empty, mocking screen.

"What happened? What have you done to my laptop?" Tony could hear that hint of fear in his voice.

Right, he forgot to tell Steve he cleaned out that nasty virus plaguing it.

"There was a virus. Someone in this school was trying to hack into your documents, so I killed it, along with other infected files."

Steve's captive hold was tighter; for a weak guy like him, he sure knows how to hook his hand onto a shirt.

"You deleted everything?"

"Like I said, you would be in danger if I allowed the virus to infect your laptop."

"Without my permission?"

Tony sighed. Steve wouldn't understand the complications, how much work and time he invested to preserve the laptop.

"If I waited any longer, it would be too late, and instead of returning this to you, you would have gotten a new laptop customized by me."

Steve was flushed. "Do you know how much you destroyed? They were my memories, memories I can never redo and save."

Tony was fed up and hated feeling underappreciated, so he stood up. "You don't get it, do you?"

"Get what? That my laptop is nothing to you, except as piece of scrap metal?"

Staying here any longer would drive him nuts. He doesn't want Tony to know how hurt he was, he doesn't want to fight him and lose, and worst of all, he doesn't want to acknowledge the few pictures he saved of his mother and home were gone forever. That was too much for him to handle. He went to his closet, plucked his blazer off the hanger, fished out a pair of sleek pants, snagged a pair of worn out sneakers, and rushed to the automatic door. It doesn't matter if he looks ungrateful or if it's unlike him; those lost photos won't come back.

"Hey Steve."

He didn't correct Tony this time, and he refused to look back, to see Tony staring at his neck.

"If I had no choice and if the consequences were too great, what would you have done?"

The door slid open, and Steve was hopping out, partially dressing himself while escaping.

Tony's expression was solemn, serious. "For me, I would destroy it at all cost, especially if it means my friends are in danger."

Steve was gone.

After he turned off the lights, the faint blue glow of his arc reactor was the only luminescent source. His head was faced downward, anger brewing inside him, his bitterness true. Tony slumped on the nice comforter, guilty and frustrated. To see somebody bullied and victimized because of his impeccable genius again almost made him want to blame himself. Almost. He was not angry only at himself but at the culprit, too, because whoever implanted that irksome, malevolent virus into Steve's laptop was hoping to hack into his own computer system. Not face-to-face, of course. No, whoever it was, that person plans to have a bite of his genius through Steve.

* * *

Steve, gifted to run like the speed of Thor's lightning, hurried to class, forcing his scrawny, jointed legs to dash to homeroom where he can hopefully sit at the front of class with the attractive Peggy Carter. Despite the everyday commotion in the halls, in the middle of his sprint, he may have caught a glimpse of Thor, who may have winked at him. Or not.

Steve did not mind the eerie change in attitude or the guarded positions everybody took when he passed by for he was too intent on sitting down with a dazzling brunette. To his delight, he found the door painted with the gold markings on the front _Room 21_, and he reached for the doorknob, replaying his entrance over and over again. However, he tumbled back when a rude person pushed him back, and before he knew it, unprecedented water squirted in his eyes, taking him by surprise. He wiped the water away, his eyes stung, and when he moved forward, though, there was a puddle of water in front of him, which he slipped on and steered his direction right onto a wall. People hooted at the display, cackling like witches.

Looking up, Steve saw the one standing next to the water fountain. He wore their spiffy uniform, but he fashioned it with flashy, expensive pins. Next to him was another student, even though he looks older than the blonde. Already a dark mustache was growing on that one. He ignored the two because he does not want to give them the satisfaction and walked cautiously to the door even though the crowd surrounded him. Another person pushed him down to the ground.

He stood up again, holding his fists up. He was used to people picking on his weaker form, but there is no way in hell would he let them without a fight.

"What's the hold up, boys?"

Opening the homeroom door was Peggy and Bucky. Bucky cracked his knuckles, proving to the others outside he knows how to pack a punch, and Peggy crossed her arms, lips pursed. Other just snickered. Who would save the new kid? Then one dim-witted fool had the balls to saunter to Peggy, wrapping his arm around her shoulders as if they were best buddies, and drawled slowly to her ear.

He whispered breathlessly, "Hey there, gorgeous, how about we ditch this hellhole and do something more fun? We can get out of here, just you and me."

Bucky groaned, facepalmed, and shook his head disapprovingly in that order. "Wrong move."

Confused, the unprepared adolescent was about to ask until a fist connected to his jaw, sending him backwards to crash into a few students before landing on the cold, wet floor. It was a smack that resonated throughout the hall. A strip of blood was on her one knuckle, and Peggy, affronted to have her white hands dirtied, leaned down to the loser and smeared it on his white shirt, grimacing disdainfully. She was vexed all right.

"Now don't be a sissy. Get up."

Whimpering pathetically, he learned his folly and went inside, not complaining about the forming bruise near his lip.

Peggy sighed, relieved. "That felt good."

Bucky chuckled. "God, Peggy."

The two followed, of course, without challenging a few glares, and Steve followed last, heart fluttering to see two loyal friends. With today's strife, he sat up front, but was disappointed immediately, not because Peggy sat next to Bucky in the middle but because of Tony, who is currently sitting next to him while sketching on a blueprint. His backpack was clamped into the small space he had underneath his desk.

"You were here already? How?"

Tony shrugged. "A shortcut. There are many secrets you don't know about this school."

"And you didn't tell me?"

"Well, it _is _a secret. And you're not supposed to tell anyone about it. That is the point of secrets, right?"

Indignant, Steve distracting himself by zipping his backpack open to pull out his school materials, getting ready for class to begin. Many have the false assumption that nerds like Steve like all teachers, and teachers the same. He would beg to differ. There is one professor who cannot stand his existence, and his name is Professor Rusk. He- well, everybody- had the understated goal to lower his self-esteem, mainly by joking each flaw about his physical appearance and his supposed friendship with Stark and Thor. Many would make a pass at him as a gold-digger.

The day after Thor and Stark fought with Frost was an infamous day, indeed. This academy had a newspaper club, and for an exalted school such as this one, it was incredibly unfathomable as to of why the head of the newpaper club, Jonah J. Jameson, would make an article about the new kid beating up a jock of the hockey team on the front page instead of an opening to greet and welcome the new freshman. Of course, fifty percent of the whole article was fabricated and was entirely false. Tony and Thor weren't mentioned, possibly because of the risk of conflict between the rest of the Jotun race in this school and the S.H.I.E.L.D. programs, so Steve was a scapegoat. Perfect. Just perfect.

And so, Steve was the laughing stock because really, who would fear or believe that he, along with two others, managed to defeat Frost? People didn't fear Steve; seniors, friends of Frost, and other bigger, larger people taunted him. He was the primary target of mockery. If you weren't teasing Steve, you would avoid him.

Tony was still engrossed with his blueprints, erasing the lines with fervor, intensely glued to his outline with that unmoving dedication. His pink tongue peeked out, his brown eyes moving radically as his full concentration was focusing on the right measurements.

"What are you making?" Steve asked. He rarely questions Tony, which is why his eyes swept up to see Steve instead of grunting like he normally does.

"I'm making a Mangler Missle for Stark Industries. With a guidance system, like a remote control, this can actually attach itself to an enemy rocket, control it, and destroy it if necessary."

In a way, Steve can only be struck with a newfound respect for his roommate's raveled knowledge.

"You know, you're smarter than the average high school student."

Still engage with his sketches, he smirked. "I know. That's why next year I've been offered to enroll in MIT. I just have to endure this year, and when time's up, hallelujah, goodbye Howard, goodbye Maria, and goodbye stinky teenagers."

"But you'll miss me, won't you, Tony?"

The boy with the glasses, the same one who blinded Steve by squirting water into his eyes, invaded Tony's privacy and sat on the edge of his desk.

Tony growled, "Justin Hammer."

"What do I see here? A new weapon, perhaps?"

Justin's sticky fingers tried to pry the blueprints from Tony's hands, but he raised his butt and sat on it.

"Sorry, Hammer, but hands off."

"Can't two brilliant men learn and share their discoveries?"

"That's the problem. You're a jenny."

Hammer furrowed his eyebrows. "What's a jenny?"

Tony just smiled that overconfident, winning smile. "Look it up. Maybe you'll learn a thing or two."

Justin Hammer slid down and sniffed away, smelling like money while walking down the aisle to the back.

"Who's that?"

Tony pulled out his blueprints from his seat. "He's just a spoiled rich kid."

Steve smirked. "Like you?"

Tony had an annoyed look. "At least I don't cheat and steal other people's work."

"Yeah, I know you do things your own way."

Then a stack of papers slammed themselves on Steve's desk.

"Mr. Stark, Mr. Rogers."

A graying man wearing a red suit smiled evilly.

"I would appreciate it if you boys would stop chatting like a couple of schoolgirls and pay attention."

Steve swears the man is a super villain in disguise.

"Now that all of you are listening," Professor Rusk fingered one piece of paper and allowed it to flutter on Tony's desk, covering his blueprints, "Pop quiz for everyone!"

Half of the class moaned. See? The man was an embodiment of rotten eggs.

After they had finished their pop quiz, the class had to correct it with their red pens, and Steve and Tony groaned in sync, not loving the red marks conferred. When homeroom ended, instead of Professor Rusk sarcastically dropping an off-handed comment, Steve saved him the trouble to embarrass him by incorrectly answering a question about a passage the class was reading. From then on, Steve vowed to himself that he will not daydream about sightseeing the stars with Peggy Carter while reading A Tale of Two Cities because rioting French people and marooning a certain dame does not fit well nicely together, nor will it end happy.

During their passing period, Tony continued to snicker, elbowing Steve and clamping his mouth shut to stifle the chortles. He may have not met Howard Stark yet, but Steve curses the old man for placing their lockers side by side. In the vicinity, Tony's locker was the first one Steve spotted, modernized and stylish where no spot of dullness could be seen. It was literally sparkling and radiating, tech screens zooming past each other ever five seconds, and when they reached it, the security systems Tony had installed scanned his eye and his fingerprints. Unlike Tony's locker, his locker was tan and unblemished.

After Steve locked his locker, out of the blue, Tony proposed to him, "I'm going to ditch math. Want to come along?"

Steve was flabbergasted. "You're inviting me to play hooky?"

Tony nodded enthusiastically. He wasn't going along with his caprice, but out of curiosity, Steve asked, "Where?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "To the girls' lockers room. Duh."

Red crept up Steve's neck, making him blush a nice shade. "W-why?"

"Three beauties in one locker room, one handsome bachelor, it all makes sense when you add Stark logic."

"Y-you can't do that! That's insane! Vulgar!"

"And I want to see Pepper's C-cup. Your loss if you want to have virgin eyes. Guess you'll miss Peggy's lacy lingerie." He moved his eyebrows suggestively.

Steve echoed. "Peggy?"

"I said three beauties, didn't I? There's Pepper, Peggy, and Natasha."

Steve shook his head, red-faced. "I'm sorry… I-I just can't."

The school bell rang its chime. Tony shrugged and walked off, waving without looking back and said, "Don't tattle on me and just go do your Algebra 2 homework."


	5. Two Against One

Two Against One

Back then, Dr. Erskine should have warned him about the super-powered students, should have warned him about Tony Stark, and should have warned him about the upcoming jeopardy he has to face. It was not Steve's intention; he's just a magnet prone to be in peril at ill-timed moments.

Insomnia does not work well for Steve Rogers. The past few nights were detrimental, unhealthy for the growing young boy, and even though he functioned properly and acted normal in the morning, evidence of his lack of sleep kicked in during math, which was during the afternoon.

The cause of his restlessness was the strange hammering sound he would hear every single night, pounding away for hours, and even though he attempted to mute out the sound by stuffing his head under a pillow, there would be drilling and other distracting whirring noises. Seriously, it was as if he had a construction site under his bed.

He began dozing off into space as the teacher lectured about parabolas and hyperbolas, and that was when he had enough. An honor student like him shouldn't sleep in the middle of class; he has to be a good example.

He signed out of class, desperate to wash the sleepiness out of his eyes, and as he went out, passing his homeroom and that accursed water fountain, he saw two figures hovering over the locker next to his. Tony's locker.

Justin Hammer was one of them, conspicuous because of his clothing, and seems conscious of his surroundings. Steve hid behind a recycling bin, far enough to be out of their sight but not close enough to hear their words. Justin tucked his hands into his pockets, ordering instructions to the larger kid from before, who has a small box in the palm of his hand. He tacked it to the locker, and Steve could see the aftereffects, the way the security systems were abruptly disrupted, shutting down the eye scanners and the fingerprint checks. Then they whispered to each other suspiciously as they shuffled through Tony's belongings with precise movement, as if they practiced this.

He should run. He should run, bang on a random door, and call a teacher to abate their wrongdoings because forcefully opening a fellow student's locker is definitely a red light and if he chooses to call out on them, it would be two against one. Steve looked back at Justin, and he saw the progress he made, standing on piles of papers, where gadgets and gizmos were strewn about. Steve crawled to the corner he had just passed, trying to covertly slip away; however, he stopped after he heard the echo of Justin's voice.

"Look do we have here," he said in wonder, "We have a rat spying on us."

Something dropped in Steve's stomach. His breath hitched, surprised to be caught so early. His eyes darted to the side, calculating if he could escape without exposing himself. Alas, he was not given that chance either.

"If you don't come out, Vanko would be glad enough to go over there and skewer you."

His perplexing choice of words weren't believable, but it didn't mean the Vanko guy would let him be. The options are limited now; if he runs away, the two would finish what they started, which is the same as letting injustice win. Putting on a brave face, he stepped out of his comfort zone, coolly looking straight past Justin's spectacles to look at his eyes. Vanko continued to vandalize Tony's possessions, swiping for whatever he could grab around the vast space that is Tony's locker, still unable to find the desired object, it appears.

"I remember you." Justin taunted, "You're Steve Rogers, the one who fell on his ass and wet his pants?"

Steve clenched his fists, almost impetuous enough to punch a whopper on Justin's mouth because, really, the rich boy _so_ does not deserve dazzling, aligned teeth like Mrs. Potts. He should have cavities on each molar, plaguing those pearly whites into decayed chips, just like his spoiled and rotten soul. The dirty scoundrel continued to snicker, and Steve spoke in the most civilized, composed way he could.

"What are you trying to steal, Hammer?"

Justin pretended to raise his eyebrows as if he was scandalized. "Why Steve, you think of me as a thief?"

"You guys are the only thieves I see here." Steve eyed him with audacity. "Also, for your information, only _friends_ call me Steve."

Justin's lips twitched, annoyed to bicker with someone at the bottom of the food chain.

"You don't understand." He smiled, that annoyed purse of his lips gone. "Tony is the one in the wrong here." Justin picked up a piece of paper, lines zigzagged everywhere. "He is trying to hide away ground-breaking, innovative research that can change the history of weapons. He even hides it away from his own father, the owner of a weapons industry!" A fake, twitchy smile was on his face.

Something dawned on Steve that moment. "I get it now…" he paused, "You're jealous."

After that statement, Vanko laughed heartily, overjoyed to be finished with his search and proud to be holding the blueprints of the Mangler Missle, waving it up triumphantly. Justin smiled that cheeky grin of his, setting his eyes on the prize. Steve stood still, powerless.

Justin whispered in awe, cradling the paper with his fingers as Vanko crinkled the paper securely, "How long have I waited for this day? I was always in his shadow, an ant easily stepped on… But now, it's different because this time, he'll be the one to cringe from my inventions, my genius that was never recognized."

It may be a long shot, but while Justin is distracted marveling his fictitious future, Steve charged towards Justin, to tackle him, hoping he can catch him off-guard; however, that plan was short-lived when a black whip sliced the floor, almost amputating Steve's leg. He skidded back, his soles screeching to a stop. Vanko laughed wickedly, pleased to be in possession of two electrifying whips, both attached to his arms and about six feet long. He swung his arms, aiming at Steve. Steve jumped, and the whip crashed into the floor once more. The adrenaline pumped into his veins, but with his condition, he wouldn't be able to last any longer.

Their lockers were at the end of a T-shaped intersection, leaving Justin two routes to escape, and Justin, arrogant and supercilious, haughtily mocked Steve's wasted efforts to dodge Vanko's whips instead of fleeing.

"So this is the great Steve Rogers who fought Frost? I knew Tony was a fucked up kid, but to befriend someone defective as you? I guess all that is good about Tony is his father."

"Shut up." Steve growled. "Tony is more of a man than you'll ever be."

Justin's face contorted and twisted into a shit-eating grin. "What are you gonna do about it?"

Because Steve was distracted, one of the whips finally slashed Steve's upper arm, imprinting a gash where blood seeped out, spreading all over the sleeve of his shirt. He touched the fresh cut gingerly, hissing as the pain rocketed. The classes surrounding him are soundproof, Jarvis is unavailable (probably Vanko disconnected him), and he is losing blood. If he pounded on one of the doors, warning the classes, Justin would escape, taking all the credit and would distribute Tony's original sketches to the wrong hands. Each drip of red staining the floor was his lifeline. Yes, he is afraid to die but is unwilling to let those jerks slander Tony's name and get away with that.

With poise, he said assertively, "I'm going to take those blueprints back," he stepped forward three steps, "And I will punish you for the crime you committed."

Vanko crossed his arms, belittling the injured Steve, and spoke for the first time, "Optimistic, aren't you?

"I'm not optimistic." Steve smiled, "I'm just practical."

First, Steve looked back at the corner, and with his limp bloodied hand and valor, he sped forward now, yelling confidently, "Tony, now!"

Vanko and Justin stiffened, raised their heads to the ceiling, and prepared to fight against their archenemy, the bane of their existence in a suit of armor. Steve gladly snatched the blueprints from Vanko's burly hands as he was distracted and made a sharp, critical turn, away from Vanko's vicious whips. Finally realizing they were duped, Vanko chased him, screaming madly and releasing his whips, fully charged and ready to shock the puny freshman. They zapped, breaking the lights with every step he takes, and a feeling of dread plummeted in Steve's stomach because the zaps made by the whips were audible and deafening. He stopped at the same place where he first encountered Vanko and Justin and used his nimble hands to check the damage on his arm because the bleeding continued to flow. He cannot hide; the blood will only leave a trail. He slumped down, beside that blasted water fountain and waited.

Predictably, Vanko caught up and was heaving heavily, too, probably from the lack of exercise, and Steve, with glazed eyes looked up at him, who was laughing huskily.

"Fool, you can only go so far. Now hand me the blueprints or…" Vanko lifted his hand, the whips sizzling, "Die."

"_Hey Steve."_

Steve's grip on the blueprint loosened, and a pool of blood was forming near his right leg.

"_If I had no choice and if the consequences were too great, what would you have done?"_

If Justin's greedy hands were on these blueprints, then he will give them to greedy hands, and if the owners of those greedy hands were power hungry, they would make the Mangler Missile without a doubt and would utilize it, possibly threatening the safety of the world.

"_For me, I would destroy it at all cost, especially if it means my friends are in danger."_

Tony would be blamed; he would be at fault. Sure, Tony's character was insufferable at times, but… he is his friend, a good guy, even though he doesn't want to admit it. Vanko reached for the blueprints, inches away from his goal.

Steve whispered to himself. "I'm sorry, Tony."

He slapped Vanko's hand away with his free hand, kicked him back, willed his sluggish arm to hold the blueprint up, and ripped it into shreds. Vanko gaped as Steve rounded each strip and slid it into his crimson excess, completely tarnishing them into bloodied scraps. Vanko, who was flummoxed a minute ago, was no longer bewildered and instead roared ferociously, slammed Steve back into the wall with his boot and raised his whip.

With the last of his willpower, Steve propelled himself to the left, barely missing the whip, and because of that move, the whip divided the water fountain in half. Water spurted out, pushing Vanko backwards and wetting him. Soon Vanko fell to his demise as he was electrocuted, sparks consuming his body.

"I can't believe it…"

Steve, starting to lose focus, saw Justin's staggering, wobbly form, eyes wide with incredulity.

"You- You destroyed it…"

Steve breathily whispered, "It's over."

For Jusitn, it was far from over as he whipped out a knife from his belt; his hands were unstable as it was pointed at Steve's face. If he wanted to cry and lash at him, he didn't, and instead, lunged for the kill, hoping to plunge straight at the heart and screamed.

A miracle happened. An arrow appeared from the shadows, and at the moment it touched the knife, it exploded, debris and shrapnel everywhere. Justin jerked back, shielding his face, worried about his complexion. Steve covered his face and peeked through the cracks of his fingers to see the black figure behind the smoke. He saw crouching on the top ledge was someone wearing purple arm braces, purple combat boots, a blue under shirt, and a purple mask covering the upper part of his face. He was carrying a bow with a quiver full of arrows, aiming his next arrow at Justin. Without hesitation, he released it, sending it to pin itself to one of the badges on Justin's front pockets, and right after that, the end of the arrow lit up, releasing a cloud of fumes. Whatever entered his lungs knocked him out to sleep on the ground. The one who shot the arrow hopped down from his spot to see Steve, examining his upper arm for possible infections. Gauze was wrapped around his arm, and when he tightened it, the pain stung.

Steve groaned. "Who are you?"

He grabbed Steve's unharmed arm and pulled him up. "Can't let you know who I am yet, but some call me Hawkeye."

The bell rang; thus, indicating the end of class. Steve groaned again. How will he explain his disappearance? Hawkeye climbed up back to his ledge earlier and crawled into an open vent. He called out, "Don't worry. Phil has this situation covered. Just go to your next period."

Steve smiled for a before wincing. "Thank you Hot Guy."

Amused that he misheard his name, Hawkeye laughed, "I can live with that."

* * *

"What's this?"

Steve was sitting on his desk, finishing his homework until a thin, sleek laptop with a bow on top was presented to him by Tony, who looked disheveled and greasy.

"A laptop, dummy."

The red bow complimented the silver color of the brand new laptop, and Tony flipped it open, turning on the screen to demonstrate some of its icons. He held up his hand, yielding Steve's protests.

He explained, "This is more advanced, meaning nobody, not even Hammer, can hack into your files again. Also, this is more convenient since its light unlike that ton of bricks over there." He gestured the dinosaur of all portable microcomputers.

Like Tony said, Steve easily lifted it, scanning the new and unused logos on the desktop and outlined the latest technology with his hand. Then a flash of guilt passed his face, and Tony noticed the dejected expression, the gloomy mood satiating the silence. Steve shook his head and bit his lip.

"I cannot accept this."

"Why not?"

Steve touched his own arm, the same arm where he was injured, and remembered the red, scarlet color of his blood.

"I ruined it. Your blueprints, the ones you worked so hard on… I ruined it with my own blood."

Tony shrugged. "That? It's alright. I ruined your laptop, you ruined my blueprints. An eye for an eye."

Not convinced, he glared at Tony, and Tony glared back, officially initiating this into a staring contest.

Tony is not ignorant of Steve's guilt. He understands the festering wound, poking him to no end, blaming him, telling him it was his fault. However, on the other hand, Steve does not understand Tony. When he was confined in the detention room, he heard the hushed, secretive voices, the voices panicking about a kid unconscious, lying by a water fountain. Steve doesn't understand his aggravation, how he hurt himself, how he was forcibly pacified by the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. He knew something was wrong, but no, instead of blasting a hole in the wall and shooting Vanko with his repulsors, he stood by the sidelines as the agents fed him lies. Protecting Pepper was already a handful; can he protect somebody he just met two weeks ago?

"Go downstairs to the receptionist and request a dorm change."

Steve blinked. "What?"

"You heard me."

The cut Steve received wasn't near a vital vein, but there were black and purple bruises swelling on his arms. "Why?"

"Do you think Thor and I can be your knights in shining armor forever? Not trying to imply you are selfish, but we have our own damsels in distress, you know."

Steve blushed, frowning, "I'm not a damsel."

"Nor are you invincible." Tony's tone of voice was serious. "You've seen the kind of people I fight with. They don't care if you're my roommate. Heck, they'll kill you if you're the guy who delivers me donuts."

"Tony-"

"As long as I'm acquainted with you, they'll find you, they'll hurt you. Did you join this academy just to risk your life?"

No, he did not.

Tony held his shoulders, looking straight into Steve's baby blues again, unblinking. "Leave. Can't you do that and save yourself?" For a freshman, he looks older than average, probably because of the mature environment he grew up in, how reality struck him hard without mercy. And he knows, this choice was for the better despite his history of bad choices.

Steve retorted back, "Don't be my hero then. I can take care of myself."

Tony balled his fists, incensed to kick this hard-headed guy out of the room. "Are you even-"

"Just make me something I can protect myself with."

That was an unexpected response to Tony. "And what makes you think I'm going to make you a weapon?"

Steve shaped his hands like a pistol and clicked his tongue to make a bang sound, his index finger pointing at his friend.

"Because you secretly like me and because you are Tony. Fucking. Stark."

Tony stuck his tongue out. "Pish posh. As if I will ever like being stuck with a prude like you." He smiled. "I thought you hate colorful language."

Steve pretended to look at his fingernails. "Any indecent title fits you."

Tony waved off the good-humored comment. "Yes, yes, I am that awesome. Keep in the praise."

Laying down his hands and beaming with excitement and renewed fervor, he asked, "So I'll get to stay?"

"Of course you can, Steve."

Steve raised his eyes, fixed on Tony's brown, muddy ones.

"What?"

"You said-"

"Well, you _did_ say 'Tony', didn't you?"

Steve's cheeks were dusted pink. He stammered.

"B-but, that was a joke! You can't be serious…"

"If I recall, Jarvis recorded a few inspirational words from your conversation with Justin…" Tony took a deep breath and looked out to the horizon, "Who was more of a man than Justin again?"

Steve recalled those words, all right, and he is blushing into a red rose now.

Since he has enough fun talking, Tony rubbed his fingers on his smudged shirt and slicked his unusually sweaty hair back. Steve made a face.

"Well, if I'm going to make you something, I might as well go back to my workshop."

Steve returned to his pale skin color. "Workshop?"

Tony sounded bored, as if this reaction was daily. "Yeah, some call it a lab or an experimental room. Whatever."

Many holographic screens popped up, floating all over the room, creating their own technological solar system, graphics of DNA and molecules in some, eye-boggling paragraphs of text in others. Tony touched one and slid it to his bed, where he continued pressing the buttons on the screen, as if it was a normal touch screen on his phone, and after pressing enter, his bed began to lower. Steve gaped, looking at the sinking mattress and Tony back to back. All that's left was a rectangular pit, and Tony took the first step, where a flight of stairs awaited for them.

Tony smirked. "I wanted to implant an elevator, but my dad would be suspicious if a big box was shipped to me, right?"

* * *

**A/N: Let's assume Vanko can be electrocuted and the whips were hidden in his sleeve or something. Sorry for the lame action. I'm trying to overcome that problem. Thank you for reading!**


	6. Man Versus Food

**A/N: Enjoy! Next chapter might take a while because I have to help out the family business. Read and enjoy! Thank you.**

* * *

Man Versus Food

Steve sat on the bleachers, two towels and a water bottle in hand. Today is Mile Monday, and at this defining moment, Steve is relaxing his racing heart and his dizzy head. Before, running a mile successfully was a luxury because of his brief asthma attacks, but ever since the day he drank the elixir Dr. Erskine gave him, nowadays, he can run to his heart's content.

Unlike his eight minutes, Tony is currently walking his third lap, chatting a flirting with a couple of girls, who walked along with him. He must have said a funny joke because the girls giggled and hooked their arms with his, and because of their pace, Mr. Chester Phillips, their P.E teacher blew his whistle, screaming at the top of his lungs to demand the trio to run. Tony glared at him because of his strong dislike towards at authoritative figures, and since Mr. Phillips was pushy, he blew a raspberry in response and persuaded the girls to walk slower, so slow that it would put shame to his dead pet turtle. By the time they received their grade for participation, Steve already at the showers, cleansing the sores away.

Steve was alone in the locker room because he waited for his indolent friend. While he was wrapping a towel around his naked torso, Tony greeted him, popping from the corner.

He said teasingly, "Hello, _Steve_."

Steve sighed, exasperated.

"Are you ever going to quit about the first name basis?"

"Not until you are comfortable saying my name."

Steve opened his locker, grabbed for the pair of folded pants inside, and snapped them open. While he was fumbling with his shirt, he grumbled out Tony's name, and Tony smiled, finding Steve's uneasiness laughable.

The shower was turned on again, and Tony stepped into the warm water, humming gratefully, and undressed, throwing his clean white shirt at Steve's face. While his hair was getting soaked, Tony envisioned his friend frowning but folding it neatly and packing it into his backpack.

"Nice catch," he quipped. "Can you be a dear and fetch me a dry towel?"

The underappreciated boy muttered under his breath, "Slave driver."

As he politely asked Jarvis where the towels were, he glanced back at Tony, his figure shrouded with steam. Steve is no pervert, but once in a while, he would peek at Tony's skin when the vaporized water wasn't there. His eyes would trail down to the blue glow emitting from his chest, lighting the stall.

The truth behind it was cloaked in mystery, a story left untold. Sometimes, the color of the element would captivate him for minutes, and Tony, who loves teasing his friends, would posture himself in a wanton pose and would wink, suggestively inviting him to do more obscene things than staring. Inexperienced to Tony's playful, supposedly friendly attitude, Steve immediately hid behind a row of lockers and begged his snickering friend to hurry up and dress himself.

Tony appeared from the stalls, his hair matted and in dire need of combing. Even though he wasn't his personal assistant, Steve flashed out Tony's comb and handed it to him. While they were walking, obviously tardy, Pepper was waiting at the front door of their multi-purpose room, tapping her watch with her finger.

"You are late for lunch."

Tony slung his arm around his girlfriend and was about to maul her cheek with kisses until she used her notebook as a barrier, hindering the kiss. Steve looked away, feeling like a third wheel.

Pepper spoke. "How are you, Steve?"

He was startled. "I'm fine."

"That's good." She tilted her head in Tony's direction. "This guy hasn't scared you off yet, so I'm glad."

"Pepper," Tony whined, "I'm as harmless as a fly."

"And flies are annoying."

"But you still love me."

Pepper rolled her eyes. Tony insisted, "You complete me."

They reached an unoccupied table, and Tony arranged their lunch, marking this territory as his. With a few words, a line of butlers surrounded their table, unleashing excessive amounts of food, and Steve's mouth watered. The tablecloth draping their table looked expensive; its material too pretty to stain, but Tony simply sat down and stabbed a huge, juicy steak with his fork. The juices drizzled down his fork as he lifted it to his mouth, the drops splattering all over the tactile material. Pepper followed suit, munching on her steamed vegetables, and Steve, influenced by peer pressure, awkwardly moved his legs over the bench. He scooped himself old-fashioned mashed potatoes and gave his prayers.

While he was munching the tough meat, with his mouth full, Tony spoke. "Why do you keep staring?"

Steve jumped.

After he swallowed the lump of meat, he rested his elbow on the table and laid his head on his hand, utensils and food forgotten.

"What are you talking about?"

"Back at the showers," Tony reminded him, "You've been doing that lately."

Steve squirmed, the realization dawning on him. He glanced at Tony's chest and bit his lip, afraid if the subject was too touchy to discuss here since people are liable to snoop. However, with his curiosity knowing no bounds and Tony ending his lunch, he pointed at Tony's chest with one wavering finger.

"Y-your chest…"

Tony's hand trailed down to the center of his chest, his palm over it, and his thumb rubbed circles over the fabric of his white shirt, speculating the source of Steve's curiosity. There was no glow emitting, so the display was weird, a boy holding his heart.

His voice no longer held the crisp, lively tone but a saddened one replaced it. "I would rather… not talk about it."

Steve winced because he was afraid now, afraid he had stepped on a landmine; after all, bragging everything special about him, both bad and good, was second nature to him, but this time, he is refusing to spill the secret. Pepper's fork clattered on the table. Her shoes clicked and clacked as she reached for Steve's collar, pinched it, and dragged him away from Tony, whose charming smile now looks like a façade, fake and strained. In mutual silence, they left the protégé to eat alone, and Steve still looked at the closed door of the multi-purpose room because he knows leaving wouldn't solve the growing gap between them. They were under a shady tree, yards away from a living, breathing human, and then Pepper twirled around, her ferocity ebbing out of her. Even Steve couldn't stay gallant in front of her dynamic, compelling words.

She hissed, "Don't ask him about his arc reactor!"

Steve shrunk and said weakly, "S-sorry…"

He smacked himself on the forehead. "I'm so stupid. I should have known that question was taboo."

Pepper held Steve's wrist, hindering him to cause brain damage to himself, and shook her head. "No, I should apologize. I'm not here to slap you or anything of the sort." She smoothed out the ruffles of her skirt. "I'm here to talk about his arc reactor, so that you can understand the hardships behind it."

Steve widened his eyes. "You know about it?"

"Yes. Tony told me."

"Does everybody know?"

"No. His shirt keeps it well-hidden. I'm surprised you can see it."

His hand caressed the small back of his neck. "I saw it while he was showering…"

Pepper nodded. "That makes sense… so about the arc reactor."

Steve backed off, his hands held up together defensively. He smiled, his eyes crinkled a bit. "If Tony told you about it, then that means he trusts you. Until the day he trusts me as his friend, I rather to be kept in the dark about this arc reactor."

Pepper's lips parted, too stupefied for words, and when she caught herself staring at a stupor, her palm slapped her mouth closed. Like a winding toy, she stopped, frozen, absorbing Steve's words. Then, out of the blue, she began to giggle, her eyes clouded by levity. It was a contagious sort of giddiness, and Steve was concerned, flustered to see Miss Potts so much sunnier than usual. He waited for her like the gentleman he was until the lady calmed down, face flushed and enameled teeth shown. He fidgeted, so raw to Pepper's radiant smile; maybe that's how Tony was smitten with her in the first place. After coughing out the laughter bubbled inside her, she swooped for Steve's clammy hands and squeezed them in hers, staring deeply into Steve's soul.

She said, "I'm not saying this as his girlfriend or to compliment your modesty but as a friend, and Steve Rogers, you are a good man, a man who is fortunate enough to be gifted with integrity and compassion. I'm so happy you came into our lives." Steve's hands were pale and coloring into a plum purple. "From now on, promise me you'll continue to be this way, to be this loyal and unwavering. Promise me."

Taken aback, he nodded, having second thoughts if this was trickery.

The brevity of their conversation led them back to the multi-purpose room where they can finish they last scraps of their lunch; however, when Steve opened the door with courtesy (lady's first, after all), a flying slice of pizza rapidly hurled itself out of the door and squelched on the cement, missing Pepper by a millimeter. And why did pizza, you may ask, was shot out of the door? Well, after the splotches of cranberry sauce and crumbs of bread marked its demise on the ground, Steve and Pepper peeked in through the crack where they see a food fight was amiss. It was chaos and pandemonium in a nutshell. Unidentified foods were spattering the walls as we speak, and the soldiers of this battlefield were extremely grimy, disgusting, and oozing out juices as they raced around the front lines. Yet, one student was above all, using a lunch tray as his shield and his backpack as his weapon of choice. He was the one with the superior weaponry because the backpack had a flap open, which revealed a small cannon on the inside. Pepper groaned, betting ten bucks that Tony planned to have an all-out war. The backpack was loaded with ammunition, and it began shooting their meatball-sized bullets with precision. Many fell.

Steve, gave Pepper a look, one that can only mean what a soldier preparing for his death would do. He dived into the tiger's den, dodging the shots and smelling the foul stench of mixed cafeteria food. Tony smiled when he saw his friend joining him.

"Ah! Is that you, Steve? What a coincidence!"

"The heck did you start a food fight in five minutes?" Steve shouted at the top of his lungs; the battle cries of Thor almost drowning them out.

Tony shot a kid right on the head. After doing a pelvic thrust in satisfaction, he shrugged at his gawking, blue-eyed friend. "I get bored."

Thor wielded his cane, his target now Tony and Steve, and by pitching a drumstick high in the air, he smashed it like a major leaguer. Steve swore the drumstick was on fire, and Steve gulped, about to leap backwards until Tony gripped his wrist, their chances to jump away waning.

His eyes glimmered. "Trust me, Steve."

Tony's words had a stabilizing effect on him, and then, to his surprise, was finally submitting to Tony's plea, and was sedated. For a whiz, he was deft and quick with his fingers, pulling Steve's sleeve up and revealed what he made for him that day in the workshop, putting it to good use.

"_It's a prototype, but it will do for now."_

_Steve smiled, his fingers circling the red and white stripes. "I like it."_

A bracelet was attached below his wrist, and by a press of a button, a magnificent energy shield introduced itself, bouncing the drumstick off. The red and white stripes along with a blue center where a white star was smacked in the middle was much like a victory symbol.

Tony smiled like the rascal he is. "I knew this would come in handy."

"Thor!" he called out.

Thor crossed his arms, his cane in front, ready to strike whatever comes his way. Tony pressed a different button on the bracelet, but this time, instead of the shield disappearing, it stirred into an energy blast, heading towards Thor. Thor thought he had time to deflect, even though he was in his human form, but the blast accelerated right before his eyes. He did a side-step, but Tony was one step ahead because he shot another energy blast; a few seconds later he used his makeshift cannon to shoot a pellet. Unable to step aside from both at once, he bypassed the energy blast and chose the bullet to hit him fair and square. He was on his knees and had a defeated expression.

"Though it is greatly distressing, you warriors have proven yourselves to be worthy. I, Thor, son of Odin, admit defeat."

His dramatic closing was convincing. Tony whooped, doing a small victory dance.

"We did it!" He shook him while grasping his shoulders. "We won!"

"Congratulations, boys."

Phil handcuffed them together.

"Hi there, agent." Tony greeted merrily.

He pulled on Tony's ear while talking with his Bluetooth.

"Ow!"

Phil was on agent mode. "You deliberately caused the food fight. I am very disappointed in you two. You are both receiving a S.H.I.E.L.D detention."

And those last words shattered Steve's world, not only because he was an innocent victim involved in Tony's ploy, but because this was, sadly, his first time in detention.

And Tony was, well, being Tony, with a reddening ear, of course.


	7. The Inventor's Son and the Hawk's Eye

The Inventor's Son and the Hawk's Eye

Crossing his arms, not minding the closeness between the two because of the handcuffs, Steve angrily muttered out, "I hate you."

"I believe the correct term is 'dislike'."

Triggering his annoyance, Steve jerked his hand, which yanked Tony's arm and drove him to fall on the floor.

Grumpy face on, Steve snarled back, "I dislike you. A lot."

Although the coldness of the floor was inviting, the idea of Steve dragging his face was unsanitary, so he lifted himself up before his partner had second thoughts while the chains clinging onto him jingled. Positive, he laughed and brushed off the dust coated on his shirt, but it was a lost cause. There were noodles dangling on the sleeves of his blazer, and alien colors were infused to his slacks, the culprit for these unrecognizable stains unknown. Steve was cleaner, except for some salad dressing running down the cuffs of his shirt. Because of their messy appearance, sprucing was mandatory, so they were escorted by Phil to their rooms where they can change into a new batch of clothing.

He temporarily unlocked the handcuffs, freeing them from their linkage.

Promising Phil they will be out after a hot shower, Tony shut and locked the door, not trustful enough of the watchful man knowing their every movement. They scrambled for their clothes and held a short rock, paper, scissors match, deciding he would use the bathroom first, and after three draws, Steve came out as the victor. Tony clung to his ankle, his dignity lost long ago.

"You cheated." His lower lip protruded, which turned into a pout.

Starting to shed off his grimy clothes, Steve waggled his leg, desperate for the stubborn man to let go and unlatch.

He spoke through gritted teeth, "Strangling you would be my pleasure."

They were at the borderline of the door to the small, cramped bathroom.

Tony clicked his tongue. "Steve, you know baseless threats like that won't work on me. You have to try harder."

Steve's words echoed in the bathroom. "The most regretful decision I have ever made in my life was being your friend."

A pang, like a thorn, seized Tony's heart. He flinched, and before he knew it, the door was in front of his face. However, his smile was still there, and clearing his head, he straightened out the flaps of his blazer.

He praised Steve from the other side of the door, "That might have worked, but I've known you long enough to know you value me as your friend."

"Put a sock in it," he faintly heard.

The pattering of water and the warm temperature was like a therapeutic treatment to Steve, and he sighed as if he was stuck in heaven, allowing the water to wash over him, to purify him. While he was in the middle of lathering his hair, he heard the door creaking, and when he looked at the curtains, the distinct silhouette of his friend was there. Tony was sitting on the rug next to the tub.

Steve sighed, his voice slightly muffled by the noise of the shower, "Tony, this is not the time for jokes."

He could hear Tony, loud and clear. "It's called an arc reactor."

The rushing water rinsed off the soap from his hair.

He asked slowly, "An arc reactor?"

He heard a tap, and Steve can imagine Tony tapping on his chest with his index finger, tapping on that small brilliance of blue. Closing his eyes to avoid stinging them, he envisioned it glowing and ablaze.

Tony continued on, "You wanted to know what it is, right?"

Before Steve can answer, Tony delved deeper into the explanation.

"This arc reactor keeps the shrapnel in my chest from reaching my heart. Without it, I would die in a matter of minutes."

Steve heard rustling, and Tony's figure had an object next to him, most likely his backpack. Whatever he got, it dinged. Maybe it was his phone.

Steve, finished and refreshed, turned the faucet and was about to grab for his towel on the hanger, but Tony's hand was already peeking in, a fistful of towel in it. Steve quietly said thanks and began drying his hair.

"Once upon a time," Tony started.

He felt old, too old to hear stories beginning with that introduction because it felt archaic, traditional.

"Tony…" he began to object, but he stopped, however, because he heard a beeping sound. And he deduced they were from that small communication contraption. Tony was playing a game on his phone, and Steve stood there, puzzled, under the showerhead. If his friend was about to say something important, why would he play a game to distract himself at this inappropriate time?

His clothes were sitting on the ledge of the bathtub.

"Once upon a time," Tony repeated, "There was a famous inventor, admired by all and loved by many." He was playing a game similar to Pac Man; it was a primitive game called Pacxon. At this point he was at level ten and was aiming for the ice cream cone in order to freeze the ghosts.

"His number one fan was his only son, who respected him greatly. His father was doing a project oversees in Afghanistan, and like the loyal fanboy he is, he followed his father, expecting a new device only he can see. What came next; however, was a total nightmare for that young boy."

Even though he had a diversion and was numbed because of it, for some reason, Tony can still remember

The game might have numbed his senses, but for some reason, Tony can still remember the taste, the sight, the touch of blood. It was everywhere; the smell of death was pungent. Everyone was dead, and Tony couldn't react fast enough to the blast. His hand, which was over his heart, was painted in red. It was his blood. The scream inside him couldn't be heard. Afterwards, it was a blur. Someone carried him, speaking too rapidly for his ears.

"The inventor's son was kidnapped by terrorists, and a ransom was given. Panic arose, and the world wondered where the poor boy disappeared to. Lest did they know, he was stashed away in a cave, tortured every day. His company was only a simple scientist also kidnapped."

Good, he is two levels away from the end. If he can eat that cherry, the power boost would serve him that goal.

Yinsen, to Tony, was a good man who died too early and lived too long. If he lived longer and was rescued, maybe, just maybe, he would have been more of a fatherly figure than Howard. He never forgave Tony's father for destroying his lifestyle, but he was tolerant, kind to the lost, afraid child.

"The child knew at this rate, he would eventually die, even if his father miraculously saved him. In the end, the child was forced to take initiative. Rising from the ashes of despair and born anew, the child who was dependent on his father was struck with brilliance and teamed up with his companion to create something, anything that can save them from the hellhole they were trapped in. Besides, the main reason why the scientist was kidnapped was to create weapons after hooking the child's heart to a car battery. They had nothing to lose, except their lives."

The curtains were folded at the sides, and Steve was standing there, clothed and entranced. He sat down next to the storyteller. "What did they do?"

Intent on the virtual world, he passively answered, "They got to work." Then the phone chimed a tune, indicating he can move on to the next level.

"They created something similar to an artificial heart but not at the same time. They created the boots for flight, a head covering for data analysis, and gauntlets for offense. The missiles were prepared, and the two really believed they will survive…"

Tony, this time, was averse to go in deeper for his mouth was hanging open, speechless. When Steve gently touched his shoulder, he winced, almost drawing back before remembering where he left off.

His voice was coarse and ragged. "His friend, at the end, sacrificed his life. The devices they made weren't finished yet, so he made time for him."

His ears started to pound in response, and he flashbacked, seeing his pitiful form, arc reactor in place of his heart, screaming, shouting Yinsen's name until his voice got hoarse.

Tony's voice wavered. "He blew up the weapons in the cave where he was held captive for many days and escaped… by himself."

The phone beeped again because Tony won all twenty levels.

"And to his horror, he discovered a horrible secret. The weapons he disposed were by none other than his father's company."

The stark logo was painted on a missile, and he stonily blasted it into smithereens, his world crashing before him.

"That day, he lost a friend… and the love he reserved for his father."

"Tony…"

Then Tony spat out bitterly and gripped his phone bitterly. "When he was saved, everything changed. His ignorant boob of a father didn't listen to his child, didn't listen to the truth, the truth about his company, about the weapons he distributed. Then, he sent his child to a boarding school, giving him the unreasonable reason that it was for his safety." He threw the indestructible phone to the wall. "Ha! Safety, what a bunch of bull!"

His knuckles turned white.

"The child knew he was imprisoned in the school, but even though his father could get rid of him, he couldn't get rid of genius."

And finally, storytelling was done.

Steve looked at the mirror, foggy because of the steam, and wondered, contemplated, if the mirror would have reflected Tony's tart expression, consumed with an unmistakable burning rage. Never had a story felt so heavy in Steve's heart. And so, he was speechless, but for another reason unsaid. It may have been lame, but Steve clamped his hand on the other's shoulder and squeezed it. Tony looked up and saw the most generous, understanding face in the whole world, beaming right at him. A hand was extended to him, and he stood up, cracking his neck and putting the phone away in his pouch. He was pushed into the shower.

"Hurry up, okay? If we don't, Phil might barge in with agents aiming guns at our heads."

That reason was convincing enough for Tony to speed up his rinsing, but he wasn't looking forward to be handcuffed again, not because the binds were stinging but because he was afraid, apprehensive of Steve's brightness being bound to him.

"Agent, why isn't Goldilocks with us?"

"Careful Tony, he has a stapler in his hands."

"And I should care, why?"

Phil tucked the weapon into his pocket. "Because it would be quite difficult to use a staple remover when the staple is stuck on your lips."

To Steve, detention equates with delinquency. However, it is common knowledge that in detention, you are seated at a desk, usually secluded away from other students, and you will sit there for thirty minutes silently until time is up. Yet, at the front of the door, there is a metal detector with two agents at each side, saluting to Phil. Yes, detention is bad, but how serious are the troublemakers in school these days for it to station a metal detector? The first trial was a breeze for Steve. Tony, on the other hand, was a disaster.

"The heck did you hide that there?" Steve asked, perturbed.

This was the third time Tony stripped himself naked today.

Apparently, after rechecking his body four times and finding a midget-sized mp3 player nudged near his left molar (courtesy by Tony Stark), Agent Phil Coulson resorted to threatening the stark-naked boy. He held Steve's backpack and when he retracted his hand from the small pocket at the front, there was a stapler, dancing on his fingertips, until he drove it to Tony's ear lobe. Tony flinched. The staple, antsy for release and to puncture the pink flesh, scraped Tony's skin, not entirely down. Yet. His pupils dilated, and he gulped, making no sudden moves.

Phil smiled sweetly; well, the sweetest he can conjure. "Take off every damn technological fun device you have, Mr. Stark."

"Why should I?"

"This is not a suggestion, Mr. Stark. This is an order from a superior."

Tony laughed. "And if I decline?"

"Who knows? I don't know how to utilize this yet," he rotated the stapler in his fingers, "But for sure, it can go down _South_. And when I say south, I mean somewhere near the nether regions."

The stapler was hovering over his ear like a haunting specter, floating over its next victim until it could strike. And Tony knows, whatever Phil touches, it becomes a weapon. Tony sighed, his laughter gone.

"You are such a wet blanket. And I was having so much fun."

The last piece of metal the metal detector detected, his ticket to clothe again, ironically, was hidden behind the arc reactor, and after Tony plugged the reactor back to his chest and dressed himself again, Phil unlocked the handcuffs. The chains that tied them together were gone, and Steve saw the red bands around his wrists, awed with the marks left. He didn't feel the pain.

Tony, like Steve, rubbed his wrists, too. "Aw, we can't keep them? We were starting to bond like bros."

Phil, ignoring the talkative adolescent, turned to Steve. "If you may, Mr. Rogers, may I confiscate your bracelet?"

Tony crossed his path, arm outstretched as a barrier. "You cannot have that, Agent."

"I will not turn it in to your father, Mr. Stark. If you can trust me, I'll keep it safe in my breast pocket."

Steve levered Tony's arm down. "I'll trust him. Let me get this over with."

"But-"

"Tony." he said firmly.

Tony scoffed, insulted that Steve is trying to appease to a S.H.I.E.L.D agent. "You are such a dummy. Too soft on people to notice you are taken advantage of." He stepped aside.

He smiled meekly. "Thanks Tony." He removed the bracelet from his arm and handed it to Phil.

The two agents guarding the door of the detention room nudged the two inside, paying no mind to Tony's snarky mouth and threats; thus, ending Phil's involvement with them and pushing them into a room full of possible miscreants. They are on their own now.

The walls are white-washed, bare and clean, and the room has five rows of desks, aligned. A few were occupied, including Steve and Tony, five in total. At the front of the room, a teacher stood there, using the SMART board and wrote down one sentence.

_Behave for thirty minutes._

_What a general word_, Steve thought.

"My name is William Cross," said the man.

He frowned, as if the students he is seeing now are vicious, untrained dogs. Sure, it is natural to hate spending your time with a room full of troublemakers, but this was a new level of hate, one Steve cannot put a finger on. There are reasons why the man looked so unhappy because he is disabled, missing his left eye and left ear, but fortunately, the man had replacements, which he explained, were fortified and more enhanced than his old body parts. He waved off the injuries, explaining they were scars from the war zone.

The man seems congenial and good-natured, despite that upside-down smile, and was willing to be of help to Steve when he was doing his homework.

A long time ago, his mother warned him of the bad influences in high school- smoking, sex, dating, bullying… She told him that she was a woman who spoke once and is expected to be heard and would only repeat when necessary. And so, she told him this: "Steve, I am a simple woman with simple needs, and what each simple mother would wish for her child is to see her child happy and living as a good civilian. I want you to do well in your education. Although detention does not seem serious, that is the first step to the road of a meddlesome life. I won't go as far as shunning you as my child if you got expelled or thrown into jail, but if you are to riddle your life with evil, at least do it for the right and just, not for the glory and pride."

His mother was not an open book but was a woman filled with inspirational speeches.

"Steve!"

He jumped and turned to the direction of the beckoning call. Your average paper airplane dynamically flew over three heads while successfully maneuvering a loop-the-loop until it attacked Steve's right ear. He swatted it away, just like how he would to a fly, and crunched the paper in his hands, his eyes on a boy wearing dark shades and wheat-colored hair.

Not averting his gaze, the boy lowered the shades, exposing a pair of blue eyes underneath, and flashed an insidious smile. An army of paper airplanes littered his desk, ready for combat and take-off. Not considering Steve flaring his nostrils as a warning, the boy assembled two planes on his hands and flicked his wrist, sending them to torment the student sitting at the opposite side of the room. Its journey was smooth, and it glided, moving the occasional S-turn because the boy was so talented at this. However, when one paper airplane dived for Steve's ear, he cocked his head to one side, smirking.

Vainglorious, Steve said, "Ha! You missed-"

Then the paper airplane flicked back, and like a boomerang, it smashed into his left ear. That was unprecedented.

The boy, vainglorious this time, smirked. "Sorry, but I never miss."

However, his fun was sorely curt because Mr. Cross used his index and middle finger to catch the second paper airplane at the last second. By the time he shadowed over the boy, it was crumpled in his hands. The insurgent didn't kneel to his pressure.

"Clinton Barton," he said in mock disapproval, "Still playing with your toys?" He sneered, "I thought you turned a new leaf last month, but it seems you haven't seen the benefit of following the code of conduct. Isn't it tiring to loiter around the detention room?"

Clint leaned on his chair, hands behind his head and legs seated at his desk, dirt particles dusting it. "No can do, Mr. Cross. Sometimes, we don't see eye to eye."

Mr. Cross turned red with irascibility. "It seems that we don't," he bared his fangs, "But going against authority will backfire on you."

Clint glared back.

Mr. Cross spoke through gritted teeth. "I'll be having a bathroom break. Dr. Erskine will watch over you until I return."

Clint beamed, eyes brightened.

Mr. Cross unhappily left the room, handing the baton of responsibility to Dr. Erskine, and the old man tipped his hat, greeting the youngsters with fondness. He tipped his hat to Steve, who was thrilled and repeatedly tugged Tony's sleeve. The aged doctor rested at the front chair and squirmed to find the right position to slump. His glasses were removed and folded at the edge of the master desk, and he massaged the bridge of his nose until he tweaked his hat to cover his eyes, as if he was purposefully telling the children he intended to sleep. Catching the hint, Tony's hand slid down and mapped the bottom of his desk, sweeping his hands to find something that is obviously not gum. His eyes lightened when he touched the intended object. A tablet computer was thoroughly taped there.

"Always knew Jarvis wouldn't fail me." Tony praised.

"Wow!" The boy who used Steve as target practice approached them. "Stark Industries are selling these?" His hand reached out to touch the protected screen.

Tony slapped the hand away and hugged the device like a lifesaver. "No touchie. I don't let people who terrorize my friends touch my stuff."

Clint scratched his head and thought about how he should articulate his behavior. "Well, I met Steve, so I was just strangely showering him affection."

That declaration didn't assuage Tony's suspicions. He wrapped his arm around Steve's shoulders possessively because no way in hell is he letting a cheeky bastard like Clint taking his friend away. He asked darkly, "Oh? How are you acquainted with him?"

Clint tapped on his chin now, thinking once more.

"Clint, Phil said that was classified."

A girl with luscious, flaming wavy hair bookmarked her page and sauntered her model hourglass body over to Tony's desk, one arm gracefully rested on her hip. She had mean, slanted eyes, but both boys were mesmerized by her beauty. To Steve, her hair reminded him of fire. To Tony, the way her hair bounced and the motion of her hips made him horny.

Clint smiled, immune to her sexy figure. "He's harmless, Nat." She rolled her eyes.

She introduced herself, hand on her chest, as if she sincerely wanted to meet them. "It is nice to meet you. I'm Natasha Romanoff. Some call me Natalia.

"Steve." He shook her hand.

Tony coughed and wiped the hint of drool from his mouth. "I'm-"

Natasha closed his mouth. "No need for formality, Tony Stark. That went out the window ever since you peeked me in my panties." Her lipstick followed the upward curve of her lips.

Tony gulped, but not because of the sexual pheromones she was emitting.

Steve coughed, not wanting to egress from the main subject too much. "Sooo Clint, how do you know me?"

All heads turned to him.

"You don't remember me?" He pointed at himself, loving the limelight he's receiving. "I saved your life."

Flashes of the mysterious student in purple garments flickers in Steve's mind. The realization dawned on him. The boy's uncanny eye coordination, his brazen delivery of words, he was-

Steve echoed his thoughts, "You're that Hot Guy."

At first, Tony, Clint, and Natasha were speechless. Then they exploded into roars of laughter with Clint pounding the desk with his fist and Tony rolling on the floor after slipping off his chair. Natasha was amused. Even Dr. Erskine, who was pretending to sleep, snorted a bit.

"What's so funny?"

Tony heaved, as if he was the one with asthma problems. "You." _Snort_ "Called." _Snort_ "Him."_ Snort_ "Hot Guy."That triggered more laughter.

Steve was thin-lipped and oblivious. He is not amused.

Natasha, more mature than the other two, was the first to refrain from laughing and saw Steve ill-humored grimace. Her eyes softened, sympathizing with him because, at one point, she was left out from him, unbeknownst to the cultural jokes here in America a long time ago. Her lips crinkled at his hapless sight, and she wiggled her finger, edging Steve to get closer, close enough for her to loom over his ear to whisper.

She whispered, ever so quietly. "The correct name, dear Steven, is Hawkeye, not _Hot Guy_."

And then Steve curled into a ball.

Tony, done with laughing, too, felt sorry for Steve's misunderstanding and pressed the side of his tablet computer, allowing its hazy blue light to shadow his friend's golden hair. Unwilling at first, Steve hatched from his cocoon of shame and embarrassment, and looked up, only to see a website in front of his face. Its background was mostly a solid blue, and dominating the page were posts and pictures. At the top where the URL is, Steve saw, in his opinion, a misspelling of the word tumbler, but with Tony's confirmation, it was indeed Tumblr. The first post he saw was an abstract painting, and at the top right-hand corner, there was a box with a number, two arrows pointing at opposite directions, and a heart.

Admiring the beautiful artwork, he asked, "What is this?"

Tony answered, "Tumblr. It is a microblogging platform and social networking site. We can post multimedia and other stuff into a blog. See that picture over there?" It belonged to a fandom about personifications of countries interacting with each other, and in this photo, there was a drawing of a young, sprightly man donning spectacles hugging another man with abnormally large eyebrows. "You can post stuff like that."

"... This is my first time hearing it. All I know is Facebook, Myspace, and Twitter."

Tony absently waved his hand. "Pl-ease, Myspace is practically dying. It doesn't deserve to be in the pedestal with Facebook and Twitter. Lately Instagram has been getting popular, though…"

"I don't really understand…"

"Look here." Tony commanded. In the search box, Tony typed in Steve's full name, and one second later, an assortment of pictures and posts of a famous baseball player popped up. "See? There are tags you can explore. Since your name is pretty common, it's no surprise to see these many posts."

It was like a whole new world.

"Do you have a tag, Tony?"

Tony did not say anything.

In the midst of their Tumblr surfing, the last student, the one who has yet spoken his name, talked, but his words were not of greeting- they were a warning. His voice was serpent-like, eerie and ominous.

Unforeseen, he warned, "I shall give you a fair warning, mortals. Alas, the man with no eye nor ear is returning from his presumed business. It is well-advised if you hold your tongue when he comes in."

The shadows, it appears, was his homage, for it was difficult to see his true appearance, but Steve luckily caught a glimpse of his vomit green sweater and the shimmering pencil he dawdled with.

Natasha eyed the darkness suspiciously. "How do you know, Loki?"

Loki grinned, the corners of his mouth reaching to his cheeks, as if his cheek was deformed enough to create dimples. Yes, the trickster was a sneaky one, indeed, and intelligent enough, for he answered back with his trademark question.

"Why do people always presume I'm lying?"

His voice sent shivers to Steve's spine. As they huddled back to the safe confines of their seats, waiting for Mr. Cross's entrance, the young man, stiff and confused, glanced back at Tony questionably, hoping he would somehow telepathize his message. It seems it worked.

Tony explained, not yielding despite the deadly eyeball Loki had on him. "His name is Loki Laufeyson, Thor's adopted brother." _Another god_, Steve thought. "He is a troubled kid, bedridden with pure hatred for his brother. Worst of all, he has an appetite for domination and recognition."

Steve turned back and held back a gasp. Loki was staring at him, his two eyes, where there are scars tattooing at the corners, boring down. "Do not worry, Stark." Steve can see raven black hair trapped inside his hood. "My aim is to be President, somebody respected and loved by his country."

It must have been the lighting of the room, but his eyes seemed multi-colored, a rainbow; however, it flickered back into an emerald green, a color suited for royalty. The animal instinct inside him read Loki's subtle presage.

_Then I will rule you… and kill you._

"Shut up," growled Natasha. A minute passed. Dr. Erskine was fully asleep. Mr. Cross is not here.

She wrung her backpack, banged it on the surface of her desk and rummaged through it, her movements articulated. Clint narrowed his eyes, reacting to Natasha's reactions and picked up a crossbow from his own sack.

Tony, incredulous, complained. "You guys must be Phil's favorites or something, to allow you guys to carry this here. What are you guys doing? Showing off your guns?"

Natasha pulled out her weapon of choice. "The cameras have been deactivated. Our thirty minutes are up, but there have been no noise since then." It was a hair dryer, unplugged.

Her voice this time seems uncertain. "The question is, why?"

Not choosing to read the moment, Tony asked, "What use is a hair dryer if it's not plugged?"

"Tony, while Clint and I are stalling for time, you, Steve, and Loki will go out and find an S.H.I.E.L.D operative and tell them the detention room has been compromised."

Suddenly the lights dimmed and flickered on and off. Mr. Cross unlocked the door, revealing an empty, dark hallway behind him.

Natasha cussed, "Shit!"

Clint urged the three to escape as he shot an arrow to his knee. "He got the lights out. Go now!"

They left as Mr. Cross lunged for the bane of his existence: Hawkeye.

Mr. Cross, now Crossfire, picked up a handgun from the pouch in his belt and shot four bullets, each fragmentizing all light bulbs. The room is in eternal darkness, and because of his cunning, Clint is impotent and unable to fire for the time being, unless a light source sparked up. Even so, that does not mean Natasha is out of the game. She became one with the darkness, backflipping and hurtling over desks to avoid Crossfire's bullets. With all her might and concentration, she hooked his arm and bent it behind his back; she switched the wireless dryer to low when he wrung himself out of her grasp. One click later, instead of hot air blasting out, bursts of fire flared from the hole. The radiation was glaring to his left eye.

She kicked him back into the SMART board, inches away from where Dr. Erskine was stationed. Wasting no second, Clint penetrated the gun, which cracked almost in half, preventing Crossfire to use Dr. Erskine as a hostage.

However, though it may look like they are winning, Crossfire had a trick up his sleeve. There was an ultrasonic wave, which deafened their ears and sounded like a piercing shriek. It corrupted their hearing and led the two young assassins to their knees, covering their ears. The villain, as usual, was prepared and was not affected due to his left ear.

He was swollen with hubris. With one knee down, he sneered again, except this time, Clint had no choice but to lay down submissively. "Do you remember me, Hawkeye?" He raised his gun and smacked it to his left cheek, striking him without hesitation. Blood trickled from his nostril.

"Clint!" Natasha screamed.

He pointed his gun at Natasha's face. "Be attentive and look for once, Clinton." His trigger finger was on the trigger. "I wonder how your face would contort after I blow up her pretty face."

"You sick monster," he spat out.

"I've seen a lot of villains in my day, but you don't even reach up to my top twenty."

"Who said tha-"

He collapsed.

Behind the man was Tony, sweating and breathing heavy gasps. The cause of the man's downfall was an ultra low repulsor beam. He slightly crouched down, lifting his body weight by holding his knees in place.

"If" _gasp _"I'd known"_ gasp _"I would run" _gasp _"To save your rear ends" _gasp_ "I'll promise" _gasp _"To God" _gasp_ "I'll start finishing my miles." What he said afterwards was nonsense, for he was unable to create coherent sentences.

Maybe they were impressed, or maybe they thought they were plain stupid, but Tony took the liberty to retrieve his gauntlets and reactivated Jarvis when they escaped instead of calling a couple of agents to save the day. Maybe it was heroic, maybe it was insolence, but Tony told Jarvis to locate unidentified contraptions around the perimeter and ordered Steve to borrow one gauntlet in order to dispose it. Loki, on the other hand, just had to call his brother. He was never seen again. Surprisingly, no news articles had any involvement with Mr. Cross's disappearance. Probably it was because of Jameson's newest interest: a red menace who has an association with arachnids.

William Cross was half-dead next to a dumpster.

"You failed me Cross."

"I-I'm sorry! Please! Please don't hurt me!" His voice was laced with terror.

"Ah, Loki, you are here to watch the show?"

Loki smiled like the Chestire Cat. "You may continue. I was hoping he would be a pawn, but seeing his ugly, disgusted face made me realize that was a mistake."

The obscure one harrumphed. "So be it."

The next day, S.H.I.E.L.D found a corpse. Their cameras they had installed last night were destroyed, meaning they couldn't catch anything on tape.

Steve logged onto his new laptop. He went to his default page, which was Google, and typed in Tumblr. In the search box, the same way Tony did at the detention room, he typed in Tony Stark in replacement of Steve Rogers. The first post he saw was a snapshot of Tony's face, but on the bottom, there was a three-paragraphed rant, defaming him as Steve read on.

_A copycat, just like his father._

_Well ladies and gentlemen, here is our future generation. Tony fucking Stark, the screw-up._

_Bet he would start World World Three by the time he inherits his father's legacy._

These are words, hateful, spiteful words. They are words meant to harm, to slander. Some provided proof, some fraudulent and some not, but still, they all sadden Steve. On one page, he sees a post so full of profanity, it would put a sailor to shame, and obviously, they are not meant to compliment fourteen year old Tony Stark. And Steve knows they are talking about his Tony since there would be a candid shot of him, usually vandalized by black markings or propped with devil horns. He counted twelve pages by the time he stops and rests his eyes.

He creates his own tumblr, and after contributing one hour of his Wednesday to crack and solve the complications of the website, he began to type. He created his post, satisfied after proofreading a thousand times, pushed in his rolling chair and logged off. Tony was "underground, probably working on new experiments for his energy shield, the one he recently got back from Agent Phil. Tony and Steve compromised the noise level, so he uttered a prayer before encasing himself with bed sheets.

_Despite reading these posts online, I have only one thing to say. Tony Stark is not an imitation of Howard Stark, is not the arrogant brat the public wishes to see in the tabloids, is not the coward everyone insults, and is most definitely not a man who cheats in life. You may disagree. You may "flame" me. After all, we do have the freedom of speech, so I am free to say this. Tony Stark is the opposite of what I've seen in the past posts. He is a true friend, a companion of all ages. He will be the one man I can entrust my future to because he has accomplished what many of us cannot do, and that, my fellow readers, is being a hero, inside and out. I am completely graced to be alive and to meet him as his friend._

_-Steve Rogers_

Hundreds reblogged, half of them "flaming" Steve, but a selected few liked his post. Of course, in the internet, some will respect and some will lash out at your ideas. For a guy like Steve, that does not matter. His Tumblr will be long forgotten, due to his inactiveness. How cruel life is, for him to never see that anticipated comment three years later, signed by a certain Tony Stark.

And how sorrowful, for him to receive the woeful news of his mother's grave sickness the next day.

**Disclaimer: I do not own the game Pacxon or Tumblr. William Cross is Crossfire. He is just a random villain I picked. Kudos to the one who recognizes what fandom the photo Tony showed to Steve before belongs to. I didn't know there was a baseball player named Steve Rogers. Yay! "J" returned! She will begin editing our other stories after she kills the virus plaguing her laptop.**


	8. Goodbye

**I apologize for the short chapter. School is here, so do not be surprised if it's slow. However, I won't quit this story. Besides, I already have a sequel in my head. I hope you can enjoy the next chapter!**

* * *

Goodbye

Perhaps it was the season that caused the rain that day. His last remaining family member is dead; her death caused by a fatal mixture of an undiagnosed cancer and pneumonia. The procession was torture, and his grief cried a thousand rivers. Few friends, including Tony, Clint, and Natasha, witnessed his mother's coffin lowering to the ground, and they sent their genuine condolences, expressing their genuine concern. He still felt that cold, numbing pain in his heart, though. Ever since that morning, that dreadful morning when Phil mentally slew him, Steve became dissonant, disconnected from the outside world. He is an orphan now, a parentless child, and that caused a few complications for the academy. The school board is merciful, not heartless enough to throw a stray adolescent to the adult world, but who would be his guardian? The Starks kindly offered, welcoming to accept his homeless self, but Principal Fury, on the contrary, cajoled Mr. and Mrs. Stark to allow Abraham Erskine to be his temporary guardian.

Outside in public, there is a resilient façade masking his melancholic state, and on the inside, where his feelings are stripped bare and raw, there is a gloomy and drear sadness clouding over him. He has been mourning for a month and still refused to check with a counselor. His band of misfits never pressed the issue on him for they feared his reaction, how his angelic, fragile face would crumple if they ever accidentally uttered the word "Mom".

He is a hermit, locking himself in his room during the weekends, but today was a different day. Unlike the past four weekends, his established solitude was disrupted. A girl stepped by the doorway, intruding his business, and stopped, silently asking for permission to proceed.

"You can come in," he said lightly, huddled over a book.

A sweet aroma of cinnamon saturated the air, and after a deep smell, Steve turned around to see his visitor, Peggy, whose eyes scanned the area of his room, no particle unable to escape her intensity. This was her first time stepping into a boy's room, excluding family members.

"I came here to give out some bad news."

Steve's voice was hollow, as if a chunk of his personality died with his mother's corpse. "What can be worse than what I'm feeling now?"

Her voice had an abrupt, clipped tone. "I will transfer back to London in three days." The harbinger stood like a commander, authority practically oozing out of her. There is no way she would joke about this.

He chuckled lifelessly. "I stand corrected."

"To be honest, I was sent here because of your friend, Mr. Stark."

"He is a good friend." Steve emphasized, nodding.

"Do you have anything else to say?" Peggy asked, the end to their conversation drawing near.

"Why would you think of that?"

Peggy chose the straightforward route. "I was hoping for a confession, to be honest."

He swished his head around to see her auburn hair under the lighting, as if it materialized into a golden halo above her head. She casted her eyes down.

"It's too late, though, isn't it?" he whispered.

Her ruby lips curved. "I guess a long distance relationship _is_ too hard." She held no bitterness- only regret. After all, this would be the last time they would see each other. "If there is anybody who deserves a good thrashing, tell Bucky. He would gladly oblige."

"Thank you, Peggy. You…" He took a pause to rethink his words. "You were the nicest girl I've ever met."

"Don't thank me yet. I came here because of a request. A friend of yours would like to relay you a message while he is out acting like Fury's personal flying monkey." Steve was all ears. "He would like to tell you that crying about a loved one is never gay."

Her face met Steve's. "Sadly, it is up to you how you would interpret that. Maybe he meant both."

She kissed his cheek, imprinting her red lipstick there.

"Be careful out there, soldier," she whispered softly to his ear, "Sometimes the world is too big for a small guy."

Steve still couldn't figure out why she would call him a "soldier", but for today, he will maul and tape Tony and his big mouth. Before he knew it, preparation for Christmas was almost here.


	9. The Maid and the Cat

**I updated! Yay! Thank you so much for the reviews, guys. They always give me encouragement whenever I read them. This can be seen as a filler arc or not. Also I hope you'll enjoy this chapter, too.  
**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Avengers nor Fifty Shades of Grey  
**

_"May those who accept their fate be granted happiness. __May those_ who defy _their fate be granted_ Glory."

The Maid and the Cat

"Achoo!"

Clint ducked behind the contours of the bedside as Tony sneezed, spraying his germs and bacteria to those who were unfortunate enough to be around the radius. His hand accidentally pushed a remote as he half-heartedly searched for a box of tissues lying around. Clint emerged from the bomb, glaring at the sick teenager who had glazed, feverish eyes. Clint's beady eyes were focused on him, narrowed and almost like slits. Although he does not consider himself as a neat freak or an obsessed sanitary creep with a compulsive disorder, he frowned. It made him disgusted and maddened because Tony did not follow the proper etiquette to cover his mouth when he sneezed.

Calling out to him hotly, he loudly voiced, "Cover your damn mouth Tony!" He scooted back a few inches backwards, avoiding the radius this time. "Unlike you, people like Nat and me are not lucky or rich enough to own an AI or have a Steve at our beck and call," he added, exasperated.

Christmas was a jolly, merry event for all students, the last holiday before the beginning of the New Year and the start of a long winter break. However, winter this year was not a cooperative, friendly season for the ambitious inventor. He was in charge of a committee, but in all actuality, the committee pretty much consisted of Tony and two other representatives. They handled all the technical entertainment the school could have offered: Christmas lights, disco balls, strobe lights, glow-in-the-dark paints, Christmas-themed robots… everything related to the holidays and flashy flamboyance.

Principal Fury's expectations were met and the day turned upside down when his bastardly father patted him on the shoulder once, expressing how proud he was of him. That was improvement compared to the past, but although admitting seeing a toothy grin from Fury and receiving acknowledgement from his father was the reason why he accepted working on this project was tempting, he owed it all to the young man who never knew what a strobe light was, who never danced under a disco ball, who never got splattered by a mere paint ball… who was always and truly his friend, Steve. It was Steve's brilliant smile that made all the hard work worthwhile. The shape of his mouth when he opened his eyes as Tony lured him to the dance floor, the shimmering exuberance he exerted while filling up the balloons with glow-in-the-dark paint- if the consequence was to be deathly ill during Post-Christmas, there were no lingering regrets about the matter. His eyes were droopy now and the crook of his next relaxed into the environment, and then he began to daydream.

Natasha "nudged" her imperfect but tolerable friend. "Clint," she ordered, "Stop antagonizing the patient."

Clint yelped as a spike of pain shot up near his abdomen. Of course, that was to be expected since the typical "nudge" for the average assassin-in-training would be a sharp, assailing elbow to the ribcage. For the average victim, that grueling blow would have knocked a grown man out cold for two hours, but since this is Clint, who was also an assassin-in-training, too, the throbbing area evolved into a plain, purple bruise.

His eyes twitched as he struggled to compose himself, nearly out of breath and sassiness. Abuse and pain were his two favorite middle names, and no, although many groupies and fangirls adore it, the rumor about his middle name being Francis was a fraudulent lie, an outrageous slaughter to his good/infamous name. Rubbing the sore spot where Natasha contacted him, he choked out the question he has been meaning to ask for centuries.

"Is it true Steve is wearing an apron for you?"

Natasha ignored Clint's idiocy and continued to skim the text Fifty Shades of Grey, engrossed by the sexual themes.

Tony shifted his eyes to Clint and smiled cheekily. "_Hell yes. I've been negotiating with him to wear a maid outfit, too_." His raspy, coarse voice made him sound like an old man.

Natasha smiled for once while reading, possibly hinting her amusement with the kinky references in the book or the mental thought of Steve in a black skirt no longer than his mid-thigh, wearing four inch high heels with his long, skinny shaven legs, with a lacy and ruffled maid hat on top was too hilarious. Clint laughed lightly and sat back on the chair, leaning the leg back. He is impressed by Steve's progression to domesticity.

He switched his spot and sat right next to Tony, the minutes before all in the past. "I applaud you, Tony Stark. If you weren't so sick, I would have toasted you a nice bottle of rum and whiskey."

A snarling voice interrupted the celebration. "Don't you dare give him alcohol, _Clint_."

Heads turned around, including Natasha's, to see Steve mortified. The sheer look of doom was upon him because he is wearing a standard solid black knee-length dress, black stockings, and is complimented by a white apron. Steve drew the line when Tony added ribbons to the back. He was innocently lifting a tray; the meal today was chicken noodle soup. His face burned shame; his sanguine complexion redder than the scarlet colored stripes of the American flag. He opened his mouth to speak, but he fumbled with his words, feeling the pairs of eyes singling out each mistake he uttered.

Clint had a smug smile. "Dayum, Tony. How did you coax him to wear this?"

"_If you tweak your wording and add loopholes, you would realize the awesome, ultimate power our tongues have._"

Tony judged Steve's slender frame, moving his head up and down, checking his friend out from top to bottom. If there was some effort added, Tony deemed he would be able to pull off as a woman, not because of his skinny exterior but because of his baby blue eyes, brimmed with naivety, and his golden lush hair gleaming under the artificial light. Both accentuated his natural down-to-earth style, but because it would have offended Steve if he commented on the feminine aspects, he kept his mouth shut. Besides, his throat still feels scratchy and worn.

Standing like a sitting duck for three minutes, Steve proceeded forward, past Clint's sniggers and the judgmental eyes of Natasha.

"_Thanks_." Tony croak.

In a soft, melodic voice, Steve hushed him. "You shouldn't use your voice too much. It can get worse."

The furrowed angles of Steve's eyebrows and the creases on his forehead before began to flatten, possibly because of relief or the anticipation Tony expressed when he shoved a mouthful of soup into his mouth; it brought a delightful satisfaction in his heart- warmth that reached all the way down to the toes of his feet. This fluffy moment of their friendship, though, to their abhorrence, was ruined by the aptitude of Clint's snorts. What caused Steve to blanch into a chalky white was the horrendous moment when he felt a strange breeze rushing past his upper thighs, and when he looked back, what was a pale sheet of blank paper turned into disintegrated ash. His skirt was flipped by a certain dumbass's diabolical hands: Clint himself.

He could have rolled on the floor laughing, but knowingly seeing the demonic aura seeping out of the fierce tiger waiting to erupt and pierce its fangs into his neck, the maid didn't seem so pure and innocuous anymore.

Steve grinded his teeth, each letter pronounced and emphasized as he said the lecher's name. "_Clinton. Francis. Barton._"

When Steve Rogers says your name- the one written and signed on your birth certificate- bad things go from there. Long story short, stockings and all, the glorious Steve sprung on Clint like a rabid dog out for revenge while Natasha reads more arousing literature. The racket was almost unbearable for Tony, and disappointedly, he took the last tissue from the tissue box Natasha handed to him. The maid and the archer continued to inflict punches and unintentional bloody knuckles onto each other. The grappling, mauling, and rolling did not cease. Steve may have been the small fry, but that does not guarantee Clint has the upper hand. Too bad that lasted for a minute.

Pinned on the ground, Steve struggled, chest heaving up and down. He resisted the olive branch and glared at the victor, but one glance at Tony told him he wanted water.

He puffed out air. "Alright, alright, you won," he admitted, resigned.

Even though Clint was going to straddle Steve just to frustrate him more, he pushed him off inelegantly. With one knee down, he got his other leg to stand and hopped up. He crossed his legs, too. After all, one does not simply underestimate Clint Barton. One positive con, if there are any more, to wearing a skirt is having the freedom to move your legs without the constraints of denim. Whisking a pitcher of water from the refrigerator, he poured more water into Tony's empty glass. Tony ravenously drank each drop.

"Why are you guys here?" Steve inquired. "We have a school-wide field trip, right?" He poured a refill for Tony.

"Not interested," Clint said bluntly. Then he paced around Tony's room, as if he was searching for the secret passageway leading to Tony's lab. However, that industrialized working space is off limits.

"You should go!" Steve encouraged. "I heard they were going to visit chocolate factories, monumental historical battlefields, beaches, amusement parks… Also! I heard they mentioned a world-renowned circus was-"

The electric crystal ball Clint carried slipped from his fingertips and smashed into tiny, little pieces on the floor.

Clint swerved his head in Steve's direction. "Don't you DARE mention the CIRCUS!" he snapped.

His reaction was teeming with vehemence, and it startled Steve to see a man so collected with his emotions explode like that. Deterred to say anything else, he hid behind Natasha's body, which he used as a shield, and peeked out from her arm heedfully. Clint clenched his fists but made no move to use it. Natasha crossed her arms with a stern look on her face, and her body language right then and there showed not of a pacified, merciful teenager with a dove on her shoulder but of a domineering assassin-in-training with a pocket knife hidden up her sleeve. Unlike their other training sessions, she is not proud of her pupil/friend.

"Apologize." There was an uncompromising tone in her voice.

Clint was silent.

"Apologize, _now_."

Stubborn and knuckle-headed, he did not utter "sorry" or any other alternate version of an apology, so he sulkily left, and opened the victimized sliding door with a powerful thrust. She ran after him, muttering in Russian about hard-headed men.

There was a whistle.

"_That was quite a scene, huh_?"

Lavishing his petty needs, Tony gulped another glass of water. Steve poured more for him.

"Did I say anything to offend him?"

He sat at the corner of the bed. Tony shook his head.

"_Jarvis, explain to him_." he coarsely whispered.

His artificial intelligence answered to his guttural plea.

"Mr. Barton had an unhappy history with the circus, Mr. Rogers. Ever since he joined the business, he was an orphan, wandering from place to place with a couple of strange adults. Sadly, his life took a crude path, and he was betrayed by his valued mentor and accused as a thief. Agent Coulson took him under his wing, but the damage had already been done. Life hardened him and from there forth, he somewhat became a steely, closed-off character, wishing to be, and I quote, 'A straight-shooter'."

Steve looked back at the sliding door. "I should go and apologize."

Tony did a frantic, muffled sound. Jarvis understood his master.

"Translation: Don't take the blame, Steve. Let Barton handle his shitty emotions."

It is quite funny to hear Jarvis cuss with his distinguishable British accent.

Steve patted the curls of Tony's dark brown hair, eventually entwining his fingers with them. "You know me, Tony. I would feel guilty if I left this unresolved."

Tony puffed from his nose, dissatisfied with his answer. Steve got up and went to his closet to pluck out a duffel coat from the hanger, and he embraced the woolen material and sniffed its scent. Marking his approval, he shrugged into the sleeves. He looked back at Tony.

"Have a nice rest, Tony."

Tony couldn't tell if his cheeks were rosy because of overheated electric blanket.

When Tony awoke, blinking his eyes to adapt to the strange glare of the sunlight, he discovered after rubbing his eyes, he was no longer in the reality he knew but was trapped inside a world of dysfunction and cacophony. Clocks were suspended in midair, and they ticked the time. The monotonous rhythm followed the beat of his footsteps as he tromped on pinkish soil, where many plants identical to Venus flytraps grew on. The horizon was a hazy blur, a thin line not meant to be distinguished. He knew he was in his dream, but like a man without a map or a guide, he had no destination to go to, no objective to follow. And so, he rollicked in the personification of his subconscious, not a bit apprehensive to see the pink soil turn red.

"Hey Mister! You shouldn't be lollygagging around this town. Nightmare will devour you if you don't hitch a train soon!"

A mix of aquamarine, light blue and turquoise pair of eyes captured the attention of murky brown ones.

Tony gaped. "Steve?"

There was a human being who looked identical to Steve a few yards away, and the major difference between this Steve and Tony's Steve were the twitchy cat ears glued to his head, the star-spangled collar hanging from his neck, and a coiled furry, fuzzy tail attached to who knows where. Cat-Steve, Tony decided to call him, trotted/sprinted to him. His ears perked, and he hugged Tony's leg in a frolicsome way.

He purred. "Wow Mister! You must be a mind reader to know my name!" He took a whiff of Tony's fragrance, if there was such a thing as sense of smell in the dream world. "And you smell so nice~"

Dumbfounded, Tony rubbed Cat-Steve's back to tame him, his hand prickling as it touched along the vertebral column. Each bump made him seem so human, so real. This creation from his imagination wore a white short-sleeved shirt and tight black pants that hugged his waist; the white shirt juxtaposed the eerie red stream trailing along the horizon but the pants blended in with the murderous color.


	10. A Dream Not Forgotten

"Mister, why do you have such peculiar dreams?"

The two nomadic dream dwellers have been meandering, laxly finding a way out, as if there was an exit out of this fantasy.

"Trust me Steve," Tony retorted to his newfound friend, "I had worse dreams."

Cocking his head ever so innocently, he asked, "Like what, Mister?"

Tony coughed awkwardly. "Let's just say I was a naughty boy back then and thought of Pepper and tentacles."

News of his girlfriends must have gone over the feline's head for he responded chirpily, "Fried tentacles sound delicious!" He licked his lips, picturing a dish of calamari seasoned with herbs and pepper. Tony slapped his forehead with his palm.

"I wish I wasn't so lost," Cat-Steve added, "My tummy is grumbling."

His stomach conjured a whine. For the benefit of their personal interests, they decided a break would be best. Sensing Tony's desire to sit down, a bench appeared. Cat-Steve indulgently rested his head on Tony's lap and nuzzled his thighs. He would occasionally rotate his head periodically every few minutes and Tony would stare at the repetitive scenery, the same horizon for the past hour. He thanked his subconscious for gifting him this new bench; after all, that was a new picture than this gloom and doom. Red may have been his favorite color, but seeing it on the ground for 3,600 seconds was too much for his pupils.

"What do you mean by 'I'?" Tony flicked the tip of Cat-Steve's ears. "We are both lost, you know."

The imaginary being positioned his head to look up at Tony and broke into an elfish smile. "You are too wrong, Mister. While you have arms to cling onto, I am but a nonsubstantial existence. One day I will die, and your memory of me will fade, just like how a dead pet rots in its burial."

The world changed darker and greener and Tony flinched to hear a monstrous roar, as loud and unexpected as a thunderclap. Yet, the other companion ignored the bellows of the unseen monster and softly scratched the denim of Tony's jeans. Tony became grouchy, not only because of the random reverberations but also because of the itch on his leg, badgering his nerves.

With so much unanswered affection and adoration, Cat-Steve teasingly poked the tip of Tony's nose, but his voice says otherwise. "Sometimes dreams can allude to the future. Did you know that, Mister?"

He was so unlike the real Steve; they could have been twins with bipolar personalities. This Steve was a pet who thrives and basks under the limelight of attention and would openly love his creator no matter how suffocating it may be. He was desperate for a master, an animalistic human willing to shower companionable love to whoever may accept him. This Steve is not Steve.

He rocked his body to and fro and hopped back into the standard standing position. He turned and outstretched his hand out to the young man trapped in his dreams. This person gave him the lungs to breathe and the strength to withstand monster, probably like the ones that roar and turn green. He sniffed.

There was something foul permeating the air; a rancid miasma poisoning and polluting the clean mood. Tony can sense it, too. He hand reached his neck as he let out a hurdle of coughs, and all Cat-Steve could do was to pat condolingly. The source of the contagion was inside a black tunnel with a wide opening spanning up to twenty-five feet. It was pitch black. Tony stepped forward, but his step was a wavering one. The tunnel reminded him of those old cartoons he was addicted to when he was younger because in one episode, there would be a silly character who would paint these tunnels realistically on the slab of a cliff, and eventually, it was used as a ploy for the antagonist to crash into. One leg was consumed by the darkness. Coast was clear.

Tony heard a whimper. "Steve?"

_Crack!_

Bruce Banner is invisible, unwanted and unloved. Even the teachers were dubious whenever they read out his name on the roster. He is a genius of high prestige and caliber, but he is also aggressive and ambitious in a negative degree, almost to a point it can be obsessive and self-destructive. He is only Bruce Banner, a forgotten child in Stark Academy who could fade away if he so desired it. He is like a specter, a ghost roving around the libraries, and if the kind Miss Ross permits it, he would appoint the lab for the next lunch period. Sometimes books for an appointment just to talk to the nice, urbane librarian, but he is too taciturn to choke out a conversation.

Rumors are bountiful in a high school, some dissembling and resentful. And Bruce Banner, despite living out as a humble, innocuous senior, the word about his abusive father scorched a stigma on his permanent record. No one has heard of Bruce ever since, except the librarian Betty Ross.

The Other Guy is always antsy whenever there is a school wide field trip because Bruce is prohibited to be around attractions, and more importantly, around large crowds of people. The school, in the Other's eyes, is his kingdom, his domain. However, ruling this school has to wait because Professor Rusk decided to become a douchebag one day and had a lecture about writing a ten page essay about the theme of imagination in the novel Atonement. This soured his mood.

What added the fuel to this provocation was the following. "Mr. Banner?"

He muttered out, trying to repress the monster wanting to lacerate and tear apart this cold-hearted professor. "Yes, Professor Rusk?"

_Fuck you and your essay. What is the point of that book, anyway? We all know it gets worse and the characters are plain stupid!_

"If it is not too much trouble, can you take these," -Professor Rusk slams a packet of papers on his desk- "and take them to Tony Stark? I was going to give them to Rogers, but I forgot to catch him after he rushed out of class."

The tower of papers loomed over him, looking just about ready to topple and pile a mountain on him. Bruce and the Other Guy harnessed a mutual enmity toward the professor, and after bowing down to his royal pain-in-the-neck highness, Bruce scurried away. It would be nice if he could dunk him in a hot oil bath or throw him out the window, but that is illegal and looked down upon in society. Screw society.

* * *

Tony is dangling, as if a hook snagged the back of his T-shirt and left him there to rot.

"Let me go!" he demanded, squirming.

A cold, stony hand gripped his chin, and Nightmare's breathe pervaded Tony's breathing space. The stench was like decaying flesh, and the struggling human suspended in air wanted to throw up because he was not prepared. When Nightmare breathed in, Tony's breathe was taken away, and he felt drained, sapped. The blood flow could not circulate if he was not on the ground, so he also felt numb. It was as if Tony was stuck in a realm of despair, hopelessness, and fear. So much fear clenched his heart.

"Never would I guess my meal would be this tasty, this delectable." Nightmare praised as it sucked in one more breathe.

In an act of defiance, Tony thrashed his head and clunked against Nightmare's embodied cranium.

"Steve!" he cried out. "Steve!"

Cat-Steve was in tatters, strips of blood were everywhere, seeping out of the cuts. Bruises were greening and purpling, and a couple of bones were fractured, too. His head of hair was a muss, so it was unclear if his eyes were closed or polished in a veneer of tears. He whimpered once more, and once again, he shook in convulses, as if an earthquake was taking place.

"To… ny…" he wheezed. "Body… hurts."

"Oh my God, Steve!" Cat-Steve tried to jerk back, but it was too late; Nightmare's boot sent him flying into the cave's walls, and he fell on the ground with a crunching thud, leaving a smeared blotch of blood. He was still. And Nightmare was glad to end his misery.

"The more scared you are, Tony, the more I feed on you." Nightmare cackled. It was more jarring than a witch's and more barbaric than a savage. He is the definition of fear, the embodiment of fear. He eats fear, he bathes in fear.

For example, if you are afraid of heights, not only would he leave you at the roof of a skyscraper, he would push you off the edge to your demise and would bite his lip in glee to see your guts splatter all over the cracked pavement. He met a man who was scared of loneliness, and Nightmare haunted his dreams, ever so devilishly. The man was squeezed into a box in his dreams, and he felt claustrophobic and sealed. Such a pitiful man he was, to have a small flicker of hope out of reach. After all, Nightmare is evil enough to make the man hear voice outside, and so the hope that someone might open the door was installed in his mind.

"Damn it! Steve, wake up! Please!"

"This is your doing, Tony. Besides, you should be grateful. You can call this an insight to the future."

Nightmare coiled around Tony, as if he was a slithering snake. "Or this is a dream, a fantasy. This is yours, after all. Maybe you wanted this. Maybe you wanted this to happen."

"No I don't." Tony said, "Because if it was mines, I would have shoved a wrench up your hole." He bared his canines.

Long nails wrapped around his neck, almost piercing the soft skin.

"I should suck you dry, allowing you to fall into a loop of darkness. Is that what you want?"

Cat-Steve is still bleeding.

* * *

The rumored Steve Rogers, conqueror of Frost, most-trusted ally of Tony, is a lanky, awkward boy who needs more meat and less girlishness. Well, that is all Bruce can think of when he sees this supposedly mighty, muscular guy in a maid suit. Or that is one of his kinks. Each man has a distinct taste, Bruce thinks.

"Here's the homework from Rusk," Bruce quickly says, "He has to finish this by next week, or he'll have a zero for this unit."

Then one more look at Steve and a bubbling anger consumed him.

_It is not his fault. It is not his fault._

Bruce meditated to himself, cooling down the heat in his stomach. Trust him; it is not for sexual purposes. He is sitting down at a spare chair while Steve was getting the tea ready.

"Do you know Dr. Erskine?" Bruce said with a smile etched up.

"Yes, I do." Steve answered rather pleasantly.

_If it wasn't for his fucking self, you wouldn't be a monster. You wouldn't be this lonely. You would have been lucky. Look at the shitty smile he has going on. Do you think that will trick me, ME?_

"I-I see." Bruce coughed. "I admired his work. I heard he is making an elixir, a serum that would change modern warfare. Maybe even mankind itself."

"I bet he is," Steve said proudly, "He gave me medicine before, and it cured most of my problems. Here is some tea. Sorry for the long wait." The jade-colored teapot clinked on the coffee table, and he poured steaming hot tea into a dainty teacup.

_I was the failed experiment._

Bruce drank his tea, letting the searing pain go down his throat. His sweat glands are working. He got up. He cannot stay here any longer. He nervously wrung his tie, which is like a choker at the moment and did not want to stay for a second refill.

He said, smile etched in his face, "I must go. Things to do, stuff to blow up."

_And things to wreck and smash._

Steve looked surprised.

"I'm kidding. I have a chemistry project I have to finish anyway. I'll blow up stuff in my free time. You can visit, you know. I can teach you better shit than what some of our teachers do today. You can even make a simple mushroom cloud without parental supervision."

… Why did he offer him to visit?

"Sure. It was… nice to have your company Mister… ?"

"Banner. Bruce Banner."

He led Bruce out the door.

"Have a wonderful weekend Bruce. You should sleep. I know I would while Sleeping Beauty at the back wakes up."

"You're not a good judge of character, are you?"

"Hmm?"

_An alcoholic, an assassin, a god, and an archer. Plus me, a rage monster._

"Never mind. I didn't know where I was leading with that statement. Goodbye, and tell Tony to meet me at the lab sometimes. I miss him."

"This is nice, meeting somebody else Tony is friends with."

And Bruce did the most sensible thing as a guest after he nodded. He shut the door (or slid it shut in this case).

* * *

"Who are you?"

A livid wormhole is sucking in everything, even the nightmarish creature embodied in shadows. A young man, wearing an outlandish cape, is standing before the spectacle, watching the shadowy creature with disdainful eyes. Tony is hanging still but is gaping at the man's enormous power. The man looks at Steve, who is dying before Tony's and his eyes, and he changes his face into a pitiful one.

"I'm sorry, young one." He said. He kneels down, bowing before him. "All things must come to an end."

"Can I please get out?" Tony asked, politely.

The chains snapped without any physical help, and Tony rushed over to Cat-Steve, kneeling too beside his bloodied body. Those blue eyes pierce him. Blood is gushing out of his mouth as he coughs. Some blood is drying and some are clotting the wounds, but he will die. Tony has seen blood before; he has seen his friend die, too. This is his dream, so maybe that is why Steve's martyrdom is so similar to Yinsen's. Cat-Steve breathed quietly and softly, at small tempos.

"Dreams… can…"

Tony doesn't want to hear the urgency, the strained voice. He doesn't want see the blood coloring his teeth. His doesn't want to see the color of his eyes fading away. Mostly, he hates seeing the color red on the ground.

Steve finished his sentence. "They… can… t-t-true…"

His eyes are still open, but he looks like a puppet now. A puppet that belongs in a horror film.

The stranger reached forward without objection and closed Steve's eyes with his gloved hand.

"You have been forewarned." he said solemnly. The supreme sorcerer got up. The wormhole is still open, and oddly enough, Tony is still kneeling, petrified.

Tony said, ghastly, "Who are you?"

The stranger smiled coyly. "I have a name, but I don't have the obligation to tell you."

"Well, that is rather strange."

"Indeed, I am strange, aren't I?" He whipped his cape, about to jump into the magical gateway to another dimension.

"Enjoy reality, Stark." He vanished along with the wormhole.

* * *

Tony did wake up. His cold is gone, but the cold sweat is still there.

A cold compress is cooling his head, and he is thankful to Steve. To express his gratitude, he gave Steve a pair of cat ears, and in order to not see him moping or dejected, Steve would wear them. He stopped a week later when Clint began making cat jokes. Dirty Cat Jokes.

**I'm going to take a break for about a month since I'm trying to update my other story. The stranger is Doctor Strange. I don't know him that much, so wiki and marvel helped a little bit. Thank you for reading!**


End file.
